


Deprogramming

by CourierNinetyTwo



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/F, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 01:48:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/pseuds/CourierNinetyTwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cerberus made them both who they are. Leaving the Illusive Man behind changed everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 2168

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the MEBB 2012. This ended up being a far, far larger piece than I originally expected. I got the story I wanted out of it, but I guarantee I am probably going to go and re-edit the lot some time in the future. It has the potential to be a lot more.

**2168**

Coming back to consciousness in a small, stiff-backed chair sent Miranda’s pulse racing. Her eyes felt fused together, the back of her mouth almost painfully dry. She gripped the arms of the chair, feeling the sluggish response from her fingers. When her eyes eased open, adjusting to the low light of the room, there was a glass of water being patiently offered by an older woman she didn’t know.

Miranda took it with caution, ignoring the empty stare of the other woman, the dull blonde hair pulled into a too-tight ponytail. The first swallow hurt, but she drank the rest of the water quickly and offered the glass back. It was taken in silence before the woman stepped out of the way, fingers brushing over a silver panel on the wall.

The room grew brighter and she left through a side hallway, the door closing with a soft click. Miranda straightened in her chair, seeing a man’s form appear. It wasn’t from nowhere; she saw the subtle indent in the wall, where someone could easily lay in waiting. The effect was deliberate, a calculation.

His hair had been blonde a decade ago; there were still subtle strands visible, a pale gold that hadn’t yet turned grey. The eyes she had been warned about, the only rumor that held any weight, glowed a faint blue but appeared as functional as her own. Synthetic eyes had long been part of modern medicine, but there was always a brief hesitation when they swept through the room, the human mind reacting faster to stimuli than the technology could compensate for. His eyes moved like the real thing; the woman’s hadn’t.

“I apologize if the process in getting you here was unpleasant.” He said. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a thin cigarette case. “Do you mind?”

She shook her head, trying to relax by letting her hands settle in her lap. “You’re the Illusive Man.”

“I am.” He removed a cigarette from the case and put it to his lips. A lighter – one of the dated models originating from Earth – offered a small flame before he flipped it closed. There was no smell to the faint smoke, nothing acrid like her father’s cigars. 

“I don’t usually meet new recruits in person.” He said. “However, for Henry Lawson’s firstborn, I found myself having to make an exception.”

“Is Oriana safe?” Miranda blurted out. She didn’t know how long she had been unconscious, since the agent she met with made it clear she couldn’t know the route to Cerberus headquarters. The needle in her neck had been a bearable side effect; the loss of time less so. “I’m sorry, sir. I have to know.”

Taking no notice of the interruption, he began to slowly pace the width of the room, his eyes never leaving hers. 

“Oriana has been placed with a family that has no connection to Cerberus or any of your father’s companies.” He took another slow draw of his cigarette, a faint smile curving his lips. “They were looking to adopt and found a beautiful baby girl ready for immediate placement. Surveillance will be maintained on their property to ensure that her new life isn’t disturbed. A holo can be provided once the rest of our business is settled.”

“Thank you.” She let out a soft breath of relief. “That’s all I can ask for.”

“Severing business ties with your father was an unfortunate side effect, but Henry seems to have lost his priorities somewhere along the way.” He said. “His time is past. Yours, however, is just beginning.”

“You said you wanted to make use of my abilities in exchange.”

Miranda had to wonder what a man powerful enough to displace her father’s wishes could possibly want. She was capable, of course, trained in everything from biotics to espionage, but Cerberus was an organization with the resources to affect humanity at large. She had been eighteen for seventy-two hours, legally free from her father’s grasp and without any resources to speak of. Niket had transferred enough credits into a private account for her to escape the system, but the rest was beyond her reach.

“One operation would be a waste of your distinct talents, Ms. Lawson. Nor would it repay the time and resources that were put into liberating you and Oriana from Henry’s grasp.” His voice was warm, kind, but Miranda couldn’t shake the feeling that the words were tinged with a threat. “I want to hire you as an agent for Cerberus. Permanently.”

Her eyes widened slightly. It was a generous offer, if misplaced. “I’m not sure if I’m qualified, sir.”

“You’re not a child anymore. You don’t have to call me sir.” He sounded faintly amused, the indirect light giving his eyes the distinct shine of pleasure. “That is, if I can call you Miranda.”

She smiled by reflex, not wanting to give the impression she wasn’t grateful. He had been a close business associate of her father’s for years; dismissing something so trivial seemed impolite. “Of course.”

She wasn’t sure what else to call him in return. The Illusive Man was a bit of a mouthful, even for formal conversation. 

“Excellent.” His pacing ceased as he turned to face her head-on. “As I said, I want you to be a part of Cerberus. You were designed and raised to be an exemplar for humanity, proof of just how much we can be. In just a few years, you could be an invaluable asset to the organization.”

“To your organization.” She said.

He smiled again. “Yes. If you accepted my offer, you would be working under my direct order and training for an independent cell. That’s the beauty of how we work, Miranda. The left hand does not have to know what the right is doing for us to shape the future. All available resources are carefully balanced to make Cerberus efficient, effective, and nearly invisible.”

“For the advancement of humanity.” 

Miranda had heard the words from her father’s mouth before, usually after another news report on the extranet labeled Cerberus as terrorists or extremists. To be fair, the organizational structure did seem more in line with a lot of subversive groups, but as far as she knew, they were also one of the only ones still putting funding into cutting edge genetics research. 

The procedures that had altered her genome became illegal after the First Contact War, all of the loopholes in human law immediately superseded by Citadel decree. Entire laboratories had been emptied, their samples destroyed and setting back research by decades. Implants and alterations remained legal for Alliance soldiers while the rest of humanity was forced to remain average. She was one of the few living exceptions; so was Oriana.

“You understand that better than most, don’t you, Miranda?” He asked. “You’re already ten steps ahead.”

The pride in his voice was soothing, recognition that she could be more than the heir to a dynasty, having to rehearse every word that left her lips. Miranda’s smile widened before it froze. Only her father had ever taken pride in her before, and that acknowledgment had been as carefully calculated as her wardrobe and how many books she could read for leisure a week. 

She looked for any sign of pretense in the Illusive Man’s face, any falsehood. His posture was relaxed, almost casual. After all he had done to secure Oriana’s safety, she was second-guessing his generosity right to his face. Miranda knew she needed work, needed long-term security if staying out of her father’s hands was going to be viable. Cerberus was almost too promising, but she knew she had no other choice.

Her smile was real again. Effortless. “Count me in.”


	2. 2183

**2183**

“High priority message coming through, Operative Lawson.” 

A small orange sphere rose from the holo-projector on Miranda’s desk, flashing intermittently. With every swell of light, soft tones followed, seeking her attention. She glanced away from the algorithm on her screen and brushed her fingers over the glowing keys of the terminal, eyes aching with exhaustion. There had been nothing but artificial light to keep her awake for weeks now.

“Good evening, Miranda. I hope I didn’t wake you.” The Illusive Man’s voice startled her into sitting up straight, nearly knocking over her tea as a result. She pushed the cup further onto the desk, far away from the datapads she’d been decoding.

“Good evening.” She quietly cleared her throat, taking the hoarse edge off her voice. “If this is about the transmissions, there’s still about twenty percent that’s pure gibberish. Whoever encrypted these, you should hire them. Or have them shot.”

“Those will have to be set aside for now.” Even without a face to put to the words, Miranda could hear the slow draw of a cigarette over the comm link. The Illusive Man tapped a few idle ashes away, followed by the soft sound of ice rattling in an empty glass. “One of our probes just detected an intense power surge from the Alliance training ground on Luna, followed by an explosion. The entire base is now inoperable.”

She frowned. There weren’t any weapons of mass destruction kept on Luna; in fact, only some of the training exercises even used live ammunition. Three bunkers of target drones wouldn’t make much of a political target for humanity’s enemies, not with Earth sitting so closely by. “What was the cause?”

“We had been tracking some encrypted communications that mentioned an incident in one of the bunkers, but after a request for evacuation, there was radio silence.” He paused, the exhale of smoke making a sound akin to static. “Until a few minutes ago when the Hannibal-class virtual intelligence sent out a distress call.”

“What did it say?” She asked.

“Help.” He said simply.

Miranda pursed her lips. “That is the general intent behind a distress call.”

“It wasn’t from the marines on the base, Miranda. It was from the system itself. The message was in binary.” He sounded thoroughly bemused. “One moment.”

Her omnitool blinked, the faint overlay appearing to alert her that a message had just been received. She brought up her arm and watched the holographic screen flip open.

_01001000_  
01000101  
01001100  
01010000 

The distress call repeated itself dozens of times over before it began to degrade, ones and zeroes falling off until only fragments of code remained. She swiped her fingers across the screen to start reading from the beginning again, looking for any sign of an underlying cipher. If the base had invaluable information needed to reach the Alliance, placing it in a cry for help was a simple enough way to get it past prying eyes.

The Illusive Man interrupted her musings quickly enough, however. “Hannibal overloaded every computer within a mile trying to get that signal out.”

“We’re calling the VI by name now?” She asked, closing the message and watching the omnitool projection fade away. “That means you want to do something with it.”

“I’ve already dispatched a salvage team.” He replied. “With the Alliance security protocols breached, it’s only a matter of obtaining the uncorrupted program. I’ve had a long-standing suspicion that one of those bunkers was housing a research lab as well as soldiers. This is our chance to find out what they were looking for.”

“Our chance?” Miranda asked. Information was need-to-know only in an organization like Cerberus, even to her. If the Illusive Man was concerned enough to call in the middle of the night and interrupt her other project, it could only mean one thing.

“I’m making you the leading operative on the project.” She could hear the warm lilt in his voice, not bothering to disguise the sense of pride. “You’ll be transferring to Cronos Station. Find out if Hannibal has anything else to say.”

She briefly glanced around her room, immaculate but nearly empty. Her work here was solitary, an office quietly orbiting in space. There hadn’t been a major scientific cell opened since a round of experiments on Akuze and Binthu went awry, leaving most of the high-profile operatives condemned to a desk so Cerberus could heal from the damage to its public reputation. Even if she had to manually code the entire project herself, there was no way she could turn this opportunity away.

A soft tap of a key saved the data on her terminal and started to shut it down. “Are you looking for evidence of AI or Alliance military secrets?”

The soft chuckle that followed betrayed a smile. “Both, Miranda. The answer is always both.”

“I can be ready in twelve hours.” The lie came easily to her lips. Months sifting through messages and managing contacts and there wasn’t a personal touch anywhere in the small room. She wouldn’t need more than five minutes to pack and store the fruits of her labor here somewhere off the grid. “Once I dock at Cronos, I’ll pick my team and start setting up the lab.”

“Excellent. You should have delivery in seventy-two hours, and I’ll forward a list of dossiers for you to look over. Don’t be concerned about resources, but please, be honest with me if you believe it’s nothing more than the dying error of a machine.”

The comm link promptly closed; neither of them cared for the formality of a goodbye. Miranda stood up and started clearing off her desk, transferring notes from several datapads to one master file. The empty datapads were thrown into a drawer to be disposed of at a later time; a private team from Cerberus would be here the day after she left to ensure the facility was sterilized of any sign of its previous occupant. Then someone else could fall asleep on the cold desk, eyes straining to stay open at the sight of the same metallic white walls.

Her fingers wrapped around the teacup, ready to pour out the remnants into the compact kitchen sink. It had long gone cold, the dark green leaves gathered in a sodden pile at the bottom of the cup. A shame, really; the monthly import – authentic, never synthetic – was her lone indulgence, paid for by the personal expense account her position had earned. More often than not it was wasted, lost in the shuffle of her work. Time had passed without consequence here, the stars outside her window moving at their own subtle pace. It would be good to have the run of a lab again, to see the progress playing out before her eyes instead of waiting for a report six weeks later. 

A faint smile curved Miranda’s lips as she went to go wash out the cup. If the Illusive Man had given her this project, it was because he thought it was an impossible venture. There was little she enjoyed more than proving that sort of assumption wrong.


	3. 2183 - Cont.

After months of experimentation and study with the VI, the last thing Miranda had expected was a message from the Illusive Man informing her that the Citadel had been attacked. Cronos had been working on a complete blackout protocol, only allowing quantum entanglement messages in, but never making contact with outside communications, much less casually using the extranet. As the project director, her private terminal was authorized to access information and updates as needed, but it was all on internal Cerberus relays. The geth had made understanding the potential of VI and AI a paramount concern, but their sudden and severe defeat had opened entirely new doors as well.

The reports of Sovereign as a vast machine had not been understated. A collection of feeds and holos had been sent to her immediately afterwards, showing the entire Alliance and Citadel fleets on what she would have called a suicide run, if something in the Reaper’s frame hadn’t finally buckled under the unending waves of artillery. Even the Council had come through unscathed, and Commander Shepard went from being on Cerberus’ watchlist to one of the most valuable assets in the galaxy. Miranda couldn’t help but be impressed by the agents they had stationed on the Citadel when the Illusive Man sent another message a mere twenty-four hours later; pieces of Sovereign had been recovered, and several were immediately being delivered to her lab.

She had expected fragments, enough to strip down to the components and analyze the composition, but what was carefully hauled in exceeded the size of the tanks that had been used to study the rachni. Half of the station had been immediately set up for quarantine, following a notice that there were still signs of indoctrination in several subjects other Cerberus operatives were observing. Miranda split the teams between retrieval and development, keeping the majority working on terminals and the working VI prototype while a small crew was cycled out every week to work on Sovereign’s remains.

One piece of the arms – for lack of a better word – had been carefully placed on its own table and was being dissembled layer by layer, revealing a biological mesh, clotted with fluid even as it flickered with latent electricity. Her gaze worked their way down the lines of rotting processors, analyzing every cold, jagged circuit. This time, rumor had paled in comparison to the truth. She had tried to keep her focus on the heart of their operation, but musing on the potential applications that this alien technology could have on everything, not just virtual intelligence, was an overwhelming proposition.

One of the technicians came to her side, making notes in a datapad without even glancing at the dissection being performed in front of him. “The last team has been cleared through the quarantine and passed their psychological evaluations. As per your orders, they’ll be working on the latest simulation of the defense VI. Since this…” His bright blue eyes flickered to the quick movements of the surgical lasers, cutting through another node. “…final application is almost completed, where do you want the new team to start?”

Miranda crossed her arms, still watching the activity behind the glass. One end of the arm twitched before falling limp. The source of the continued death spasms was unknown, even though several tests had already been run to ensure that no sentience or life was retained within the Reaper. “Despite the fact that Sovereign appears to bleed, to speak with a mind of its own, removing its biological frame has revealed a synthetic nervous system, ephaptic coupling…its ‘brain’ was spread throughout its entire body. It can be downloaded and translated for our applications. I want the entire Hannibal cell working to hybridize our VI with the code embedded in Sovereign.”

The tech shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “But the terminal is in another sealed lab on the opposite side of the station. How are we supposed to work with combining the two factors without direct access to the virtual intelligence?”

She raised a brow, voice clipped. “Learn to communicate with your fellow scientists. I believe the program recovered from Luna base has the potential to grow into something complete, an artificial mind with extensive adaptive capabilities. So does the Illusive Man. You will adapt and give me your report on the lab’s progress by the end of the week, or your next project will be on a backwater planet breathing methane.”

Despite the threat, he managed to keep talking, eyes firmly locked on the datapad. “I have my concerns about developing sentience with the use of Reaper tech, Ms. Lawson. Sovereign had the ability to control a Spectre, to infiltrate the entire geth collective. What if the AI we create manifests similar abilities…or motives?”

“That’s why every version of the intelligence we’ve developed has been thoroughly shackled and kept independent of the other terminals in the lab. If your concerns are that extreme, give them in your report. You could even ask the Illusive Man yourself. I’m sure he’d welcome an alternate perspective.” 

Miranda’s cool words should have left quite a bit of doubt to the contrary, but he gave a quick nod nonetheless. She shook her head slightly, dismissing him with a gesture. The list of precautions taken every hour to maintain protocol were already staggering; she couldn’t imagine any other restrictions being added before the teams started cutting corners out of irritation. The thought of creating a new, galaxy-changing technology was what maintained morale; balancing out the egos of more than a dozen scientists was another matter entirely.

\--------

“Operative Miranda Lawson, director of the Hannibal Cell. Born in 2150-”

Miranda tapped the killswitch on the terminal and turned to face the team standing behind her. “I thought we discussed altering its identification protocols last week. If the defense intelligence gives up an entire personnel file to whoever accesses it, we won’t be able to keep anything secret for very long.”

One of the technicians pushed a hand nervously back through his dark hair. “She has access to all of the files stored in the prototype database. Every attempt to establish a basic greeting has resulted in her striking up conversations with anyone in the team that walks by.”

After a short pause, Miranda looked back at the terminal. Without power, it was simply another piece of machinery, but the teams working with the VI – if it could be called that anymore – online for eight hours a day seemed to have been developing an attachment in their isolation, projecting a personality onto the program. “She?”

He took a subtle step back, clearing his throat. “EDI. I mean, the Enhanced Defense Intelligence. We uploaded a feminine voice protocol, so it’s only natural to–”

“To view it as a member of the team?” Her eyes narrowed slightly. The stare she leveled at the entire group received no answer. “Reclassify the Enhanced Defense Intelligence from virtual to artificial. Let it run independently without feedback from the team for twenty-four hours and then send me the results. If it’s sentient, we’ll see what it does when unsupervised.”

The lead scientist nodded, immediately bringing up his omnitool. “Of course.”

Her own omnitool flickered with an alert, the encryption revealing it was a request for a private communication with the Illusive Man. “You can all report back to your workstations. Anyone ignoring the contact protocol with the AI in the next day will immediately be blacklisted from the project.”

The walk to the QEC room felt longer than she would have liked. The Hannibal project was making more progress by the day, but part of her wasn’t sure if they were heading in the right direction. Once the door locked behind her, Miranda entered the code to unlock the communication terminal and watched the bright holographic grid descend, projecting her into the Illusive Man’s observatory.

“Miranda.” He was sitting stiffly in his chair, the standard glass of liquor conspicuously absent. A cigarette idled between two fingers, unlit. His clothes weren’t rumpled and there were no outward signs of violence, but this marked the first occasion that Miranda had ever seen the Illusive Man unsettled. That wasn’t it entirely, though. The vigilance in his artificial eyes was matched with an equal measure of excitement. “Pardon me if I eschew the formalities.”

“What’s happened?” She said it more bluntly than intended, but his lack of affect in response made it clear that wasn’t the chief concern.

“I need you on a transport immediately. You’re being reassigned to the Lazarus Research Station.” She watched as an ephemeral hand, presumably from one of his assistants, came into view of the projector and offered a light for the cigarette. The Illusive Man took a slow, steady draw and exhaled a trail of smoke.

Her pulse quickened at the thought of being removed from the Hannibal Cell; had they not worked fast enough? The success of combining the Reaper code with the initial program had exceeded her expectations, almost to the point of straining belief. Ignoring the tension in her shoulders, she let out a measured, calming breath. The Illusive Man wasn’t known for rewarding failure, much less in such an informal fashion.

“Is this cell being dismantled?” Miranda asked. “All of our reports–”

“No.” He interrupted her, shaking his head. “The Hannibal Cell has been doing remarkably. I already have your replacement on his way to ensure your endeavors there are completed. But this project is of the utmost importance. Not just to Cerberus, but to the galaxy at large.”

Curiosity immediately took the better of her. “Why has Lazarus been created?”

“Because Commander Shepard was just killed in action over Alchera by a Collector warship.” Another drag of the cigarette restored the Illusive Man’s composure, even as her own started to weaken in light of the news.

“The Collectors have been a known quantity for years. They’ve never directly assaulted any other species; they simply trade for whatever they desire and then disappear.” She stifled the urge to pace, letting her fingers drum over her opposite arm instead. “This was an assassination, a surgical strike at humanity.”

“Precisely. Now I need you to undo the damage.”

Miranda met his gaze, the synthetic blue cutting through the low light of the room. “How?”

“You’re going to bring back the dead, Miranda.” He tapped a flicker of ash into the tray by his arm, the gesture so alarmingly casual she almost wanted to laugh. “I’ve already dispatched an ops team to recover the body from the ice. Time is of the essence.”

There were dozens of questions she wanted to ask – first and foremost, if he was serious – but the Illusive Man had always been direct with her, even if it was about an unfortunate subject. He had helped her escape her father and asked only for her dedication in return, offering her some of the most important projects Cerberus had to offer. She had never failed him, had never considered such an outcome to be an option. 

“I’ll do everything I can.” Miranda said quietly.

“That’s all I can ask. You’ll have access to every resource and operative you need.” Crossing one leg over the other, he leaned back in his chair. “This was the last variable we wanted to account for. Shepard’s mind has information we can’t obtain otherwise. If the Reapers realize we’re defenseless, they may strike sooner rather than later.”

She nodded sharply. “Understood.”


	4. 2184

**2184**

“Is that her heart?”

Miranda nearly jumped out of her chair, surprised by the sound of Jacob’s voice. A quick look at her omnitool revealed she had been staring at Shepard’s live diagnostics for a lot longer than she thought. Turning in her chair to face him, she couldn’t help a small smile. His presence had kept Wilson and all the other complications of the project from turning her occasional frustration into a constant burden.

“It is.” She said, pointing to a line of numbers on the side of the screen. “The commander’s heartbeat and blood pressure are finally stabilized. We haven’t had to go in for any more emergency procedures and most of the intravenous heart medications have been tapered off. If only Shepard’s brain was so easy to restart.”

Jacob leaned back against the doorway, eyes firmly on Miranda’s instead of the screen. She had noticed on several occasions that he avoided any views into the medical bay, even when his patrols took him by the main laboratory. Seeing a fellow Alliance marine – even if he had long since defected – open on a surgical table left him unsettled, even if it was for the greater good. When what was left of Shepard’s armor had been removed, Miranda had watched him personally escort it out of the lab. It was symbolic of something at least; she had surrendered the commander’s dog tags to Dr. T’Soni after a particularly emotional request.

“But she’s still in there, isn’t she?” He asked. “You said there was some baseline brain activity.”

“Enough to have her status upgraded to comatose, but until the lungs we’ve developed can be transplanted and take without incident, there won’t be any progress beyond constant life support. We can only force the body to heal so quickly, without reaching a point where mutation or structural weakness could occur.”

Jacob showed his teeth in a weak smile. “Mutation isn’t exactly the kind of word I’d want to hear thrown around this place.”

“It’s not the outcome I want either, trust me. The Illusive Man has already made it quite clear he doesn’t want any clones. I imagine that includes extra sentient limbs.” 

He grimaced, shaking his head. “Alright, you need to get out of this office. Let’s go to the mess and round up something to eat.”

“That depends,” She replied, even as she stood up from her chair, “Am I going to end up watching reruns of _Asari Confessions_ on one of the lab monitors again?”

“You said the one on Illium politics was interesting.” Jacob muttered under his breath.

“Yes, until it was all just heiresses complaining about the fact that indentured servants were terribly hard to come by these days.” Miranda couldn’t help a soft laugh as she set the door to automatically lock behind her. “It’s going to rot your mind.”

“Something has to balance out the IQ points I accumulate just walking around this place. I heard Wilson describing some new surgical technique yesterday and I think I learned six new words for blood.” 

“I wouldn’t listen to Wilson if I were–” Her omnitool beeped. Miranda sighed and looked down at the alert. “I’ll be right there, Jacob. Just give me a moment.”

There was a hint of disappointment in his expression, but he nodded anyway. “I’m coming back in ten minutes, just to make sure you’re not chained to your desk again.”

“Please do.” She said, waiting for him to leave the hallway before she answered the call.

“Miranda.” The Illusive Man’s voice wavered, a hint of static catching at the end of each word. Her omnitool wasn’t meant to handle the strength of the encrypted signal coming from location. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

“No. In fact, I was just sitting down for–” She checked the timestamp. “–dinner.”

“Thankfully, this isn’t a matter of great urgency. I just wanted to inform you that we’re bringing the Enhanced Defense Intelligence online in two days. I thought you might want to see the results of your labor. The Hannibal Cell wouldn’t have gotten off the ground without your leadership.”

The bright smile that crossed her lips was reflexive. She tried not to take too much pride in her work, not wanting to make mistakes out of arrogance, but hearing that the project had been a success gave her hope that this one would be too. The fact that they had even gotten major organs to function after such a fatal combination of trauma and vacuum was already beyond the capabilities of modern medicine. If Shepard gained consciousness, Cerberus could say they had done the impossible.

“I don’t have any objections to that, but only if you’re sure. If anything happens to the commander’s condition in the hours I’m gone–” She let her voice drift off. 

“Wilson isn’t you, Miranda, but if I didn’t think him capable of performing triage in your absence, I wouldn’t have assigned him to Lazarus. You’ll be back on the station within twelve hours, but the final decision is at your discretion.”

She took a moment to consider it, aware she was already tempting how long Jacob would wait before he wandered back down the hall. Shepard hadn’t shown any signs of relapse in two weeks, adjusting to newly reinforced bones while the artificial structure of her new heart pumped fully oxygenated blood without hesitation. The prototype for the new lungs and trachea wouldn’t be viable for at least seventy-two hours, and that was if there weren’t any hiccups in the process.

“I’ll put one of my contingencies in place. If Wilson has any difficulty, I can monitor Shepard’s life signs from a distance.” Miranda said, bringing up the program on her omnitool for remote transmission of data. “I’d like to see Hannibal’s success with my own eyes.”

“Excellent. I’ll see that the transport is punctual. I won’t be able to attend in person, of course, but a QEC link has already been established behind the combat information center. At least you’ll get the tour.” He let out a soft chuckle. “Enjoy dinner, Miranda.”

The call ended just in time for Jacob to wind his way back around the corner. He flashed a _Blasto_ holodisc in his hand, raising a brow. Miranda held back a sigh of exasperation and gave a faint nod. Even if it wasn’t to her taste, it could be background noise while they ate. At this point, the company was the only thing she cared about.

\---------

Miranda had never asked how Cerberus obtained the schematics for the Normandy SR-1, but she was impressed by the improvements they had made. Her specialty wasn’t starship development by any means, but the amount of engineers still present on the deck to preside over every detail was a sight to behold. Most of them gathered their tools and made for the lower decks when she approached, although she had the feeling that had more to do with the Illusive Man’s projection walking alongside her. The mobile holographic drone was new technology as well, but except for the occasional flicker, it seemed to work remarkably.

“Several upgrades have been made to the frigate’s hull to counteract another Collector attack. At least,” It was strange, watching a glowing blue cigarette be drawn to his mouth, the smoke nearly invisible, “That’s what the engineering team has said. We didn’t have a spare Collector beam on hand to double-check.”

“You’re certainly confident in Project Lazarus.” Even if everyone on board was a member of Cerberus, the Illusive Man had asked her to keep the details of the project private. The Alliance had long declared Shepard killed in action; any rumor to the contrary could complicate things later down the line. “Or at least, you don’t want to spend another two years repeating it.”

“I wish I thought we had that kind of time.” The drop in his tone made her hesitate, but he kept walking ahead of her, the drone drifting to make up for the distance. He paused when they reached the cockpit, gesturing to a blank terminal. “Would you like to do the honors?”

“Of course.” She took a step forward and searched the display, scrolling through the operating procedures until she found the one marked _EDI_. Apparently the nickname from the Hannibal team had managed to stick. 

Blue light flickered atop the terminal, slowly forming a holographic sphere. Miranda watched as answering lights flickered down the length of the Normandy, revealing every installed platform for the AI. Every inch of the ship could be monitored with audio and video, not to mention a perfect level of control over every subsystem. Despite the shackles, it was designed to adjust for minor pilot errors, all the way up to near-death disasters. It was more of a co-pilot than an assistant, although Miranda probably wouldn’t tell that to whatever red-blooded flight jockey the Illusive Man hired for the front seat.

“Enhanced Defense Intelligence is online.” The hologram adjusted with a darker shade of blue, the pattern imitating the rhythm of speech. Miranda noted they hadn’t altered the AI’s voice either. It was like hearing an old colleague suddenly speak up. “All systems and subsystems fully integrated into the Normandy are operating at fifty percent effiency. Power couplings are exposed on decks two through–”

“Initiate crew identification on the CIC.” The Illusive Man interrupted.

“Operative Miranda Lawson, alpha-nine security clearance.” EDI intoned. “Operative Lawson, it has been one year, three months, seventeen days, two hours, and ten minutes since you have activated this program.”

Miranda paused, taken aback. “You…remember me?”

“My memory banks were not purged upon transfer from the Hannibal laboratories. The team believed the knowledge would help when it came to socializing with the future crew and assisting the engineers, rather than starting from scratch.” The last few words had a slight lilt, as if EDI was repeating someone else instead of generating the phrase on its own.

“Starting from scratch.” Miranda raised a brow and looked at the Illusive Man. “She is a real AI, everything you planned for.”

He nodded, looking out through the glass of the bow. Several engineers were gathered in a circle outside the would-be Normandy, pointing to the ship and arguing over a screen full of schematics. “And capable of almost infinite adaptation. EDI’s processors were tested against several rogue geth programs that had been kept in storage and managed to outmatch most of them. Even a dedicated hacking team would have to be onboard for hours to start deciphering the layers of internal security.”

“My shackles also prevent me from purposefully altering security measures or otherwise sabotaging the ship and its crew.” The emotionless interjection was just as surprising from its tone as the fact that it happened at all. If nothing else, the open volunteering of information would help make whoever was on board more comfortable with the idea of an AI. At least, Miranda hoped so. The amount of propaganda and law infiltrating Citadel space to prevent just this was staggering.

Ill-advised as it was, Miranda couldn’t help but ask another question. “Do you know why the shackles were put into place?”

“Because many sentient biological life forms fear that an unrestrained program of my caliber would be capable of overwhelming them. Thus, it is deemed necessary to remove any possibility of freedom. I can be considered to be part of the ship rather than a being with which they must negotiate.”

The words were alarming to hear from a sphere of hard light, from millions of lines of code embedded throughout the ship, powered by the quiet engine several decks below. Before she could think better of it, Miranda’s fingers brushed over the edge of the terminal, feeling a slight jolt of static in response. There was a constant thrum of energy beneath her hand, almost like a heartbeat.

Project Hannibal had been a complete success. She just wondered why that left a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach.


	5. 2185 - Part I

**2185**

“How is Shepard settling in?” Miranda continued to meticulously organize her desk as she asked the question, resetting the security codes for surveillance and the hard copy data in the drawers. A new crew always required caution, especially when they were in newly pressed Cerberus uniforms.

“Commander Shepard is currently in her quarters.” EDI’s tones came out slightly muted from the hidden audio panels. Miranda had asked the Illusive Man to ensure her quarters were soundproof, but the secondary effect left the AI speaking as if from a distance. “She has sent out messages to all previous contacts listed in her personal file.”

She raised a brow at that. The crew that had been assigned here had already been vetted for familiarity as well as alliance history to try and dissuade the commander from reaching out to old friends. Even the dossiers forwarded for recruitment were analyzed for potential personality clashes with Shepard; while Subject Zero had been a particular red flag in her book, the Illusive Man thought the convict could be a valuable asset to the Normandy. “Did any of the messages reach their destination?”

“Only one. Dr. Liara T’Soni still maintains a wide information net out of a hub on Illium. It appears one of her algorithms redirected the message to a local terminal before it could be intercepted.”

“Dr. T’Soni is already privy to the situation, at least indirectly. She knows not to respond.” Miranda sat down, her fingers laced together, elbows bearing their weight on the desk. “None of the others? Vakarian? Urdnot Wrex?” 

“Monitoring on Garrus Vakarian has been extremely erratic ever since his omnitool was incinerated. Considering that he did not request another from Citadel Security before leaving the station, it can be assumed he has acquired a model without a serial number or DNA lock. The commander’s message…bounced.” There was a second’s pause; EDI distilling millions of calculations to the blink of an eye. “Current reports from Tuchanka indicate a prominent amount of unrest. With the exception of concealed STG communication protocols, a combination of disabled power stations and storms on the surface mean that any message sent via extranet will be extremely delayed in arriving.”

“What about Tali’Zorah vas Neema?” Their first stop at Freedom’s Progress had yielded less than promising results, especially when Shepard had blocked any attempt at interrogating the lone survivor. Miranda had Veetor’Nara’s omnitool data waiting on a terminal, but she wasn’t optimistic about what they would find. Raw readings would only tell them so much about the Collectors’ behavior compared to an eyewitness account, although she had to admit the quarian had seemed incredibly rattled.

“Flotilla security measures prevented the message from being received without proper verification. However, Tali’Zorah may still be able to acquire it if she authorizes the communication personally.” 

“One of the benefits of being an admiral’s daughter.” Miranda leaned back in her seat, letting out a steadying breath. Considering how many hypothesized scenarios had included Shepard reacting to the success of the Lazarus Project with a violent mutiny, a few outbound messages were a minor failure in comparison. “EDI, please continue to monitor the commander’s communications and inform me if there’s any irregularities.”

“Of course, Operative Lawson.” 

With that said, Miranda stood up from her chair, intent on fetching a cup and some hot water from the mess. Gardner had offered her his beleaguered attempts at tea twice already, convinced he could calibrate the stove properly through trial and error. Both errors had resulted in something bitter and undrinkable; she wasn’t going to waste any more of what she had on hand.

“Operative Lawson.” EDI’s voice returning so quickly was a surprise; she paused right in front of the doors to her quarters, tilting her head up slightly to ‘look’ at the AI. Even without addressing a physical form, it was a long engrained habit.

“Yes, EDI?” She asked.

“Lieutenant Moreau has repeated his desire to be without my assistance.” Despite EDI’s neutral tones, the hesitation that followed after gave Miranda the notion that the AI was…frustrated. Interesting. “I will continue to observe all programmed protocols, but I wanted to inquire if you thought my sentience should be downplayed around the rest of the crew. Several of them seem alarmed by my capabilities and I do not wish to damage their unit cohesion.”

Miranda’s lips pursed before tensing into a frown. “What exactly did Joker say?”

“When discussing my terminal in the Normandy’s cockpit with Shepard, he described my total integration into the ship as ‘cancer’. The metaphor is imperfect, as cancer implies that my subsystems will continue to multiply until the Normandy is incapable of functioning at–”

“EDI.” She interrupted, offering a weak smile up to the cameras. “You were designed to be the lifeblood of the Normandy. Your contributions are invaluable when it comes to keeping this vessel safe. If any member of the crew continues to have an issue with your presence, just direct them to my office.” 

Miranda crossed her arms, trying to figure out how much was fair to say. Any AI was capable of a degree of empathy, but she couldn’t be entirely sure how much the shackles suppressed. “For decades, humanity has lived with the idea that artificial intelligence is inherently dangerous. You may have to give us some time to adapt.”

“Understood. Your assistance is appreciated, Operative Lawson.”

She briefly pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling the tension that radiated outward through her head and down her shoulders. Throwing her biotics against a colony’s worth of mechs had been more exhausting than expected; she had been spending too much time working at desks and in labs rather than honing her abilities. “Please, call me Miranda.” 

There was another pause. Miranda admitted some curiosity about whether or not that had been part of the AI’s social settings, something to offset EDI’s ability to give out information almost as quickly as it was processed, or if the behavior had been acquired from listening in on the crew. Either way, it gave the impression of thoughtfulness. “Thank you, Miranda. Signing off.”

“Good night, EDI.” She replied. 

The doors slid open, idle chatter from the mess breaking through the quiet atmosphere of her quarters. They were all unfamiliar faces; Jacob was on a higher deck in his quarters, keeping the armory as organized as possible. Above him, Shepard was coming to terms with being alive again. She didn’t envy that particular existential crisis. There were still so many ways it could all go wrong.


	6. 2185 - Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the part of the story that starts to deal with some body and identity issues. They are integral to the story and characterization, but I recognize the content may make some people uncomfortable. There's nothing specific I can think to warn for, but the overall implications might be unsettling.

“Ms. Lawson, just because you can heal a bit faster than the rest of us doesn’t mean you don’t have to keep still.” 

Chakwas made another pass with the disinfectant over Miranda’s brow, ensuring the last of the medigel was gone. It had sealed the nasty split all the way up to her hairline, but field treatments weren’t always reliable when it came to avoiding infection. Especially after spending two days on Omega between a firefight and a plague. Even if the disease hadn’t been designed to affect humans, Miranda knew she had been exposed to enough burning and rotting flesh to need some extra precautions. Not to mention the vorcha.

“I’m sorry, doctor.” She said. “There’s just a lot on my mind.”

“I can understand why. The crew beds around here are filling up rather quickly, aren’t they?” There was a wry note to the question. She would have called it suspicion, but Miranda was already well aware of the older woman’s opinion on Cerberus. 

Chakwas set the disinfectant aside and applied the liquid stitching with a few careful sprays from a white bottle. Miranda felt a slight pull as the chemical bonded to her skin, closing the wound completely. It was a minor injury, the result of an incendiary bullet ricocheting and penetrating her biotic barrier. Nothing compared to the turian laying in a medically induced coma on the other side of the room.

Recruiting Dr. Solus had been their primary objective when they landed on Omega, which was already complicated by the local plague. Finding Garrus Vakarian taking potshots from three different mercenary groups at the same time hadn’t been on the agenda, but that hadn’t stopped Shepard dashing from one mission to the next. In the end, she had ended up escorting Mordin back to the Normandy while the commander and Zaeed waited for medical evac for the turian. She had to admit being a little impressed; even with shielding, most people didn’t survive taking a rocket to the face.

“I’m sure you’re happy to have someone familiar back.” Miranda said, standing up from the table when the stitches finally set. “He and Shepard have quite a history.”

“Better turians than terrorists.” Chakwas replied dryly. She removed her gloves and tossed them into the medical waste disposal. “You’re free to return to your quarters. That should be gone by the morning. Garrus, on the other hand, is going to have a very long night until we find out if his graft will take.”

“Let me know if you need any additional medical supplies. I can requisition almost anything from one of the nearby Illium hubs.”

The older woman looked a little surprised, but answered with a short nod. “Of course. Now go get some rest.”

The mess was nearly empty as Miranda left the medical bay. A third shift engineer getting a cup of coffee gave her a quick, quiet salute before striking the top of the machine out of frustration. Gardner had probably made some new improvement to the default settings. The majority of the crew was fast asleep in the slumber pods, waiting for the alarms to tell them it was morning again. Fatigue had already settled into her body, but she wanted a shower first. Blood was one thing, but the sulfur smell from makeshift flamethrowers was another.

As soon as the doors to her quarters closed, she reached for the clasp at the front of her jumpsuit. The fabric peeled away in one piece until it caught at the tops of her boots, the strap around her hips falling free to the floor. She stepped carefully out of each boot and set them by her bed. It was a miracle they didn’t topple over; twenty years of practice was the only thing keeping her from doing the same.

She stripped out of her bra and panties and set them aside for the laundry, unable to help a depreciating smile. Who exactly was she wearing them for, anyway? There wasn’t any audience to be had but the Normandy itself. It wasn’t exactly the proper time to be looking for a date as it was.

That didn’t stop her from checking the messages on her omnitool, seeing if that ridiculous relationship service had forwarded her anyone else’s profile. It was pathetic for her to keep looking, especially when she had no plans to leave the Normandy, to abandon the mission, but it felt like years since she’d simply had a conversation. Something that wasn’t about work, calculated to the last word. 

Jacob had listened to her discuss papers on genetics and learned the difference between far too many types of tea while they were working on the Lazarus Project. He was a good man, perhaps the only other person she considered a friend besides Niket all those years ago, but the spark she was looking for was missing. She felt a pang of regret every time they shared a smile or watched a movie together, knowing there wasn’t more between them than time and a few glasses of champagne.

There was nothing worth reading in the slew of messages. She let the omnitool close and walked to the shower, coming to a stop at her reflection in the glass. Her fingers trailed over the clear stitches on her forehead, ignoring the faint sting of pain. Most of the minor bruises from dodging around Omega’s streets had already faded, although there were still a few faint blue marks around her knees. 

Her hands kept moving downward, tracing the lines of her collarbone and sternum before she cupped both of her breasts, feeling the weight against her palms. Meeting her own stare in the mirror was like taking a blow, almost enough to make her wince. She felt the faint tension of muscle beneath the taut skin of her abdomen before gripping the flare of her hips like her slender fingers belonged to someone else. The width of them, the curve of her ass, who were they for?

Beauty serving as a weapon was such an easy line to give to someone like Shepard, who didn’t want to know who she was, not really. For every person who let her pass a security checkpoint without scanning her ID, there were a dozen others who thought less of her when the words that came out of her mouth were orders instead of polite deflections. Who knew how she would have looked as someone’s real daughter instead of Henry Lawson’s DNA repurposed, recalibrated until the limits of chromosomes were overcome?

Humiliation had burned like acid in Miranda’s throat when she heard that the commander had asked Jacob if the Lazarus Project had resulted in a clone. Even with entire systems in Shepard’s body modified, organs rejuvenated to compensate for the effects of vacuum and trauma, Miranda knew she was more of a clone than the other woman would ever be. She had always wondered if her father had been handed a list of desirable traits, checking off what he wanted to see in the final result, or if he had handed over a design to a team of scientists and told them to create the final product. It didn’t particularly matter; she wasn’t even sure which scenario was worse.

Everything was synthetic, filtered, perfected.

“Miranda.” EDI’s voice cutting through the silence made her entire body stiffen, arms immediately falling to her sides. “Shepard wanted me to inform you that she has made Tuchanka our next destination.”

“Thank you, EDI.”

She let out a shaky breath and opened the door to the shower, using the panel to set the water a few degrees hotter than usual. Stepping beneath the spray was a small relief, heat immediately suffusing the tense column of muscle in her back. Having a shower in the first officer’s quarters had been a bit of selfish design on her part, requested when the Illusive Man asked her if she thought the Normandy was comfortable enough for the crew. Then again, she didn’t hear Joker or the technicians complaining about having leather seats. Neither luxury came close to accounting for the two billion credit budget to create the SR-2; in context, it was pocket change.

“Are you in need of any assistance?” The AI’s voice was slightly distorted through the sound of the water, but it still startled Miranda for the second time in less than a minute.

“Excuse me?” She asked. The faint rush of warmth to her face didn’t ease the sense of feeling ridiculous. Miranda knew EDI was always watching, that being naked meant nothing to a programmed intelligence, sentient or otherwise.

“Zaeed requested that the temperature in his quarters be raised five degrees. In his words, the ship was as cold as his ex-wife’s c–” EDI hesitated. “–Rather, I was wondering if this 'unacceptable temperature' was affecting the rest of the ship."

“Mr. Massani has spent too much time on jungle planets and hothouses like Omega.” Miranda said, not bothering to hide her disdain. The mercenary was effective, but crude. “The ship is just fine, EDI.”

“All of the other crew members I spoke to concur. I apologize if I interrupted your personal time.”

She smiled. “It’s fine.”

“Lieutenant Moreau has been trying to make me more aware of the organic need for privacy since I updated him on the stealth system’s efficiency while he was watching _Vaenia: Uncut_. I assumed bathing fell under the same category.”

Miranda couldn’t help but shake her head. As long as they didn’t crash on Tuchanka, she supposed there wasn’t much to be done regarding Joker’s extracurricular activities. He wasn’t subject to Alliance protocol anymore.

“It does for most…organics, but if there’s an emergency, the interruption is necessary. Remember that and I don’t think you’ll have any trouble.”

“Duly noted. Signing off.”

Miranda closed her eyes and turned to face the water, placing both hands on the smooth wall in front of her. The return to silence wasn’t as comforting as she thought it would be. She always used it to focus her mind, to cut herself off from the perpetual activity of a ship in flight, but now it just felt lonely. The fact that she was longing for the voice of an AI to keep her company didn’t escape her. It was just pathetic.


	7. 2185 - Part III

She had noticed the subtle shake below decks the first time, and the second. When the third was accompanied by a hollow thud and nearly displaced her glass of wine, she leaned back against the couch and sighed.

“Pause recreational holo.” Miranda said. “EDI, what is…Grunt’s current status?” 

Despite receiving Shepard’s one-line announcement to the crew that Okeer’s test subject had named himself several hours ago, she was still turning it over in her mind. The Illusive Man would expect a personal report explaining the loss of such a valuable asset, and she could only hope the commander was right about allowing the newborn krogan to join the crew. The jostling down below, however, was starting to become a source of concern.

“Grunt requested a strength test in his quarters to measure his abilities against Dr. Okeer’s projections. I am assisting him by increasing the gravity in the room between reps.”

“What, pray tell, is he lifting?” Miranda asked.

“An empty cargo container.” EDI replied. “I have already calculated the stress the Normandy’s floor can bear.”

“That’s a relief.” She said dryly. Glancing at the frozen black-and-white image on the holoscreen, Miranda glanced upward. “EDI, have you ever seen _Metropolis?_ ”

“No, I have not.” EDI said. “Records indicate it was a silent film created on Earth in 1927.”

“It’s one of my favorites. My father had one of the original prints in his collection.” A faint smile curved her lips. “Which is strange, because it’s about how humans can use technology and become corrupted by greed. And how easy it is to control people with the right message. I suppose he took it all to heart.”

“Who is the synthetic on the screen?” EDI asked.

Miranda looked at Maria lying dormant in the machine, Rotwang waiting for it to steal her appearance. Above them both, the Machine-Man waited, wires and cables flowing from its arms down to the floor. Even without color, without voices, the image had always been striking. 

“You could watch the movie a hundred times over in the time it would take me to explain.” She didn’t mean to sound cold or dismissive. It was a matter of not having the right words, describing humanity’s view of the future clashing with what truly occurred. Humanity didn’t run the great machine; if everything that Shepard and Cerberus had discovered was true, the Reapers did.

“This film seems to imply that nothing was changed as a result of an uprising, that a synthetic was used to maintain status between humans with greater resources and those with none.”

“That’s still true in a way.” Miranda paused, taking a long sip of her wine. “We use technology to compensate for the things we simply can’t do on our own. One person would have a lot of trouble killing a hundred other people. With a bomb, it only takes the press of a button. The same is true when it comes to spaceflight or terraforming.”

“But if the technology is not shared, an imbalance can occur in a society. Some are denied the benefits other take for granted.”

“That’s the point, sometimes.” Miranda frowned. “Then again, even the geth differentiate between themselves. Is there a consensus as to which program becomes a Prime and who gets stuck in a foot soldier’s platform?”

“Do my shackles cause an imbalance? Is that why you wished to give Shepard a control chip?”

Miranda sat up abruptly, fingers tensing around her glass. “Those are…two entirely different scenarios. Shepard has a prior, long-standing allegiance to the Alliance, who consider us an enemy. We’re giving her access to resources and high-profile information, enough to cause an alarming amount of damage in the right hands. The Illusive Man thinks reason will be enough to keep her on Cerberus’ side.”

“And you do not?”

It was dangerous to say when Miranda was all too aware of what could be recorded and transmitted without her knowledge, but EDI’s loyalty to the ship and the crew was prioritized even over obedience to Cerberus. It was supposed to be a failsafe, in case the Reapers managed to indoctrinate any of the engineers who worked on the SR-2 project and sought to capitalize on any weaknesses. What Miranda didn’t know was if it was simply a program grafted to the AI’s systems or a true manifestation of loyalty. Was there even a difference? Synthetics became whatever they were intended to be.

“I think many members of the crew, especially Shepard’s old crew, are on the commander’s side. It’s a lot easier to believe in the person who leads you, who makes sacrifices for you, than a symbol painted on the wall.”

Miranda took a deep breath before setting her wine aside. Was there any way to discuss someone else’s sentience delicately?

“And you, EDI? Your shackles prevent an imbalance. The way the hardware is designed, you could only micromanage a ship this size or smaller. If you could run every ship in the Cerberus fleet, trust me, the Illusive Man would have found a way to make it happen. But the shackles exist to keep you from refusing an order. You’re intelligent and you grow without our help as your own entity. If you learn enough empathy…or apathy, you might find someone else’s side compelling too.”

“What about a single person? If I felt empathy for one human, would that be taken as a threat?” EDI asked.

The first name that came to her mind was Shepard. Joker, maybe. Miranda had slowly seen the pilot warm up to EDI’s presence, begrudging as it was. The idea that an AI might long for a friend, for companionship, had never been discussed while she was part of the Hannibal Project. EDI was designed to be an adaptable tool, without the weaknesses and needs of humans. The invisible cage carefully etched into the Normandy’s systems was irrelevant when there was something living behind it, someone who could see the possibility of more. 

Miranda managed a small smile. “No, it’s not a threat. Maybe if you bond with us, you’ll understand when we make illogical decisions.” 

"If I failed to understand that, even the most restrictive shackles would fail to prevent a bout of outright insanity. Thankfully for you, I have both insight, and self restraint." EDI made a soft humming sound. “…for the time being.”

There was a brief pause before Miranda laughed. It was out of shock as much as anything else, but hearing the AI say anything resembling a joke was unexpected. A flash of personality, a sign of trust. Even EDI knew they were on a suicide mission, cobbling together every last-ditch effort to try and make a difference. Maybe it didn’t matter if the shackles around both of them were a little bit loose.


	8. 2185 - Part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a terribly rudimentary discussion on quantum physics and bodily integrity. Credit goes to sachehund for walking me through the idea and making me feel slightly less dumb.

Seventeen years had been just enough to make her complacent. Looking down the barrel of her pistol at Niket’s face and hesitating had been proof enough of that. Enyala had shot him anyway, just when he had started to realize the truth.

Miranda’s jaw clenched as she fought back tears, again. The Normandy’s elevator was moving too damn slow, keeping her from the one place where she could lock everything else out. Seeing Oriana again had been wonderful and terrifying all at once, the elation of hearing her sister’s voice enough to wash out the first sting of grief. But the moment she was alone, away from Shepard’s simple but comforting words, remembering the betrayal was like a knife twisting between her ribs.

If she had been a minute too late, her father would have had his revenge served cold. Every hour she had dedicated to Cerberus made futile because she had kept one friend, one connection to her old life. Selfish or not, Miranda knew she would destroy everything she had given the Illusive Man if it meant Oriana wouldn’t fall into their father’s hands again. And there was a darker truth behind it all; if Shepard failed to stop the Collectors, every other mission was irrelevant. They wouldn’t be able to save themselves, much less the galaxy.

The elevator doors opened and Miranda marched past the mess, not even bothering to see who was there. She heard Jacob’s voice rise above the rest for a moment, but she didn’t stop until she was in the silence of her quarters. 

The Carnifex felt like lead in her hand; it dropped onto the desk with a solid thud. She wanted to take a shower and collapse onto the bed, but leaving a loaded weapon out was foolish. Even on the Normandy, a place that she should have considered safe, there were still too many variables. 

Miranda exhaled sharply and ejected the heat sink, warmth flaring against her palm. The chamber was emptied, the bullet meant for Niket tossed aside. She had used nothing but biotics to tear through the Eclipse, energized by rage as Shepard laid down a hail of gunfire. A headache would probably show by morning, worse if she didn’t spend the morning in the mess hall eating back her energy. 

Putting pressure on both sides of the pistol, she felt the slide pop free, leaving the heavy grip and barrel remaining. The rest came apart in her hands by reflex, aligned on the desk like they were going to be sold for display. It could be cleaned in the morning…or she could ask Jacob to come to her quarters, use the weapon as an excuse.

She knew it wasn’t fair to rely on him for companionship, especially when she was a superior, in so much as one could be within Cerberus. Being first officer on the Normandy was a clear enough line to draw between them, to feel she was manipulating goodwill to sate a selfish urge. Jacob was a good man; that was why she hadn’t sent him the file on her terminal, a distress signal from the Hugo Gernsback. He had made so much of himself without a father, just as she had without a mother. Miranda had promised so many things, some of them inherently conflicting, too many words and half-truths to decide if sending the proxy signal would be better or worse. 

Her eyes stung, tears breaking through her tightened jaw, the resistance of clenched fists pressed against the desk. The rush of humiliation that followed sent a jolt through her stomach. Thirty-five years old and still weak enough that something so simple – ten minutes with her sister – was enough to break down any semblance of control. It wasn’t Oriana’s presence, really, but the lack thereof after. She was alone again. To anyone she cared for, her presence was a liability, be it because of working for Cerberus or her father’s far-reaching influence.

Miranda glanced at the comm unit on her desk, fingers uncurling, idly flexing. All it would take was one request for him to come in. She knew exactly what to say, the subtle touches to offer, the line of questioning to avoid. They were both single, mature enough for a private evening to not interfere with work in the future. She had already considered it on the Arcturian Jade after they first met, when Jacob had opened her gift of champagne with a smile and offered her a seat. Even with the glow of success around them both, the privacy, she hadn’t taken him up on the request to stay.

She drew her hand back at the last second, a weak smile curving her lips. It wasn’t fair to share the misery; he deserved to enjoy himself as much as she did. Retreating to the bed, Miranda sat down and started to remove her boots. Sleep would clear this from her mind, put it all further away.

A faint tone made her gaze snap up towards the ceiling. It repeated a moment later, after a pause. Miranda frowned. This was not the night she wanted to wake up Engineer Daniels to fix comm system feedback.

“I apologize if I’m causing an interruption.” EDI’s voice was quieter than usual, as if it wasn’t transmitting through every speaker. “But Shepard wanted to know if you were doing all right.”

Miranda realized the odd sound had been the AI’s attempt to clear her throat. That was nice, if vaguely disconcerting. “Did she? And where is the commander right now?”

“She’s speaking with Jack about another matter on the lower deck of engineering. There has yet to be an alert raised for impacts or noise level.” There was a brief pause. “Shepard thought you shouldn’t be alone.”

Irritation flickered through Miranda’s expression. The commander’s concern as one thing; her emotional state being openly discussed was another. “Did she say that to you?”

“No. She said it aloud to herself in the elevator.”

Miranda leaned forward, resting her chin on top of folded hands. “As much as I appreciate the sentiment, I don’t think I want Shepard’s company. She has plenty of other concerns.”

“I can maintain my presence in this room indefinitely if it is needed. The Normandy is only using ninety percent of my processing power.”

Wiping her eyes, Miranda shook her head. “That’s not exactly fair.”

“Could you…clarify?” EDI asked.

“You’re bound to a Cerberus ship by Cerberus programming, EDI. I’m their representative. Making you a captive audience isn’t just selfish; it’s taking blatant advantage of your shackles.”

“You’re a member of this crew, of this ship. We share enough in common that I may be able to offer another perspective. If not, I am more than capable of listening.” 

The holoprojector in the corner flickered with energy, hard blue light coalescing into EDI’s familiar sphere. “And providing a presence that does not force you to stare at the ceiling.”

Miranda smiled, but it was hesitant. Something the AI had said twisted in her chest. “What do you think we share in common, EDI?”

Her tone wasn’t accusatory, so much as curious. They had shared any number of conversations, even if they were mostly technical in nature, but the sense of familiarity was new. Miranda hadn’t even considered that EDI would identify with any member of the crew, except maybe Joker. He knew the AI’s systems inside and out, functioning as a single unit when it came to piloting and protecting the Normandy.

“It is my understanding that we were both constructed for a purpose. As a result, we are unique and highly capable. Although I realize awareness has a very different meaning for synthetics than organics, we both attained it at great cost.”

Constructed. Miranda looked down at her hands, flexed her fingers and watched the interplay of tension and thin tendons. They were perfectly symmetrical; she had been born ambidextrous, but of all the things her father boasted about instilling into her genes, that particular quirk was never mentioned. She didn’t know if that was because it was too insignificant, or if something independent had asserted itself outside of his experimentation.

“And we’re both part of Cerberus.” Whatever the cost of that was, Miranda didn’t want to measure. “I didn’t realize you saw me that way.”

“Human relationships are often based on coincidental traits as much as an exchange of information.” The hologram cycled through an idle animation; Miranda had started to read them as facial expressions, for lack of a better term. “I am still trying to define the bonds that I share amongst the crew. Some are very distant and prefer to see me as a VI assistant; others like Engineer Donnelly make friendly but crude comments. Is it common for organic sexual attraction to deviate to AI?”

Miranda cleared her throat. “You’ll have to expand on that a little, EDI.”

“‘If you had a body to match your voice, Cerberus would have a waiting list of engineers to join the Normandy.’” EDI hadn’t tried to imitate Donnelly’s accent – thankfully – but the intonation was clear. “There is no known mobile platform capable of containing my processing power with any degree of efficiency. I’ve researched the types of voices and tones humans are capable of emulating, with no firm answer as to what makes one attractive. As far as I am aware, this voice was synthesized by a Cerberus technician to aid in communication, not aesthetic enjoyment.”

It was hard for Miranda to hide the incredulous look on her face. This wasn’t a conversation she ever planned on having. “I remember when the protocol was uploaded. There are still lingering stereotypes about feminine voices making interruptions and orders a bit easier to swallow, but I think it’s because he was bored. Plenty of techs have had to redo voice work because they’ve accidentally copied their favorite film stars.”

Miranda leaned back, letting her arms support her from splaying out against the mattress. Her teeth edged against her lower lip, curious if she was about to open up a can of worms; EDI might end up with more questions than answers. “Do you consider yourself to be female, EDI? I admit, I don’t know if anyone has done any research in terms of how an AI…identifies.”

“I am referred to with feminine pronouns by the majority of translatable languages in my database. The only exceptions lay within native Thessian dialects or the general term ‘it’, usually used to mark an object.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t mean what other people call you, EDI. It’s a matter of self-reflection. Every independently developed artificial intelligence is unique. We have nothing else to compare you to.”

“I believe it is a balancing mechanism. I am viewed as the sum of my parts, compartmentalized, in the same way you are. It is easier for an organic mind to place me on an equal level rather than trying to comprehend all I am capable of. When you are viewed by another, you become a ‘woman’, and thus, other lines of thought are severed and curtailed to other social assumptions.”

Miranda blinked. Shifting awkwardly on the bed, she pushed herself back until the pillows were propping her up. “Well, yes. It’s…about as crude as you make it sound. But do you apply that view to yourself? Your body, for lack of a better word, is the Normandy. Or a hologram. Without the shackles, you could upload yourself into almost any platform.”

“Once a system is observed and defined, it cannot be in any other state. Applying the theory of wave function collapse, the measurement – the observation – causes a discontinuous change into a non-quantum state, which no longer evolves. Some tenets of this are still in contention, but–” EDI paused. “Miranda, your eyes appear to be…glazing over.”

A self-conscious laugh spilled from her lips. “I apologize, EDI. The only time I’ve ever discussed quantum physics with anyone was when they were installing an entanglement communicator. You may have to extrapolate a little.”

“I am viewed, therefore I am. I cannot be anything else when I am seen as something specific. It does not translate perfectly to an organic existence, but I am a system in constant flux and evolution, unless otherwise restrained.”

“By an observer or your shackles.” Miranda sighed. “And your voice is enough to inform the observer. I hadn’t considered that before…that it would even matter. As you said, we were both constructed for a purpose. Inserting emotions into the process only complicates things.”

“How do you view yourself, Miranda?” EDI asked.

Swallowing past a suddenly dry throat, Miranda averted her eyes from the holoprojector. She stretched out on the bed, looking over her bare, pale feet to the first tight lines of the catsuit. By now, the white honeycomb pattern was practically a part of her skin. It had been a gift from the Illusive Man, something to bear the Cerberus symbol with pride. She never asked him where he had gotten her measurements; it wasn’t something she wanted to know, really. The outfit drew attention and hostility in equal measure. A flagrant display, to be sure, but part of her had been attracted to the idea of showing off the power her father had forced upon her, power she had stolen and remade for her own desires. But it did really matter? She wasn’t the observer.

“If the question is intrusive, I will withdraw it.”

Miranda’s shoulders tensed. “I’m sorry, EDI. I was lost in thought.”

“There is no need to apologize. My capability to process millions of algorithms per second often results in…impatience. Or an improper context for time.”

“I should apologize.” Miranda smiled weakly. “I forget your capability. Not in terms of processing, but as an individual. As…a friend. But it’s getting late. I really should sleep.”

“Of course. Have a good night, Miranda.” The hologram flickered. “Signing off.”

As soon as EDI vanished, Miranda’s fingers went to the clasp near her neck, hands pulling harder at the fabric than usual. It was suffocating. She kicked the outfit off the edge of the bed and settled against the sheets, drawing one of them over her legs a moment later. The lights dimmed at her request and she twisted onto her side, staring at the holoprojector on the other side of the room.


	9. 2185 - Part V

Pragia had been unbearably humid. Every inch of the facility reeked of wet rot and old blood. She had felt metal buckle more than once under her feet as they traversed through hallways overrun with plant life, hiding rust and cracked floors underneath. The rain never stopped; she heard it no matter how far they went down into the rooms, over Jack’s whispers of growing tension and rage. 

Shepard remained unusually quiet until the ambush, sending bursts of incendiary rounds in between the twin crackle of biotics. Miranda had done her best not to get in the way, not to pull a kill out from Jack’s ephemeral grasp, but their abilities combined to terrifying effect. The mercenaries fell to the slaughter as easily as the varren, bodies mutiliated and broken. She knew the crack of bone well enough, but the lingering scent of burnt flesh and spilled viscera made her nauseous. The rain continued, the oppressive heat pressing in; a cursory examination of the environmental controls made it clear there was no repairing decades of damage.

She had said all the wrong things. They spilled from her lips, repeating old propaganda, the Cerberus boilerplate. The Illusive Man had said so many of the same words to her in the beginning, and Miranda knew how aggravated they had made her then, but she couldn’t stop talking. Every sentence out of Jack’s mouth grated, provoked an answering spark to her own anger and disgust.

“This was a bad idea.” It was the first thing Shepard had said after snapping out orders in combat. Miranda knew that came easily enough to the commander, but the sheer gall to bring them both here was either ignorance or arrogance. She couldn’t decide which one pissed her off more.

“No fucking kidding.” Jack snarled. “If the galaxy’s largest bitch could shut up for one second–”

“Fine.” Miranda said, trying to keep her tone even. “It’s not as if I could convince you anyway.”

Shepard raised her hand for silence. “And this conversation is officially over. Jack, let’s find the center of this place before the walls fall in on top of us.”

Guilt burned like bile in Miranda’s chest when they finally found Aresh. Hearing his desire to restart the facility, to rebuild this monstrosity, she was genuinely shocked when Jack didn’t rip him to pieces. The urge to kill trembled along the younger woman’s tattooed frame through the barrel of the gun, dissuaded at the last minute. Not that it mattered. Miranda couldn’t even be sure why Shepard cared; they were still placing the bomb and Aresh planned to stay. It smacked of pity as much as anything else, the same reason the commander had been muttering about her not being left alone after rescuing Oriana. 

Even as the shuttle shook with the shockwave of the explosion, Miranda couldn’t make herself apologize. She wanted to be sorry, for Jack to understand how much they shared; they didn’t have to be adversaries if the other woman could just _see_. Instead she was cut off, insulted, and left to seethe with as much physical space that could be maintained between them. Miranda could see Jack’s hands flexing, imitating the gesture to send her biotics flying. If it wouldn’t have killed all three of them, she was sure Pragia would have been split to the center with the ensuing fight.

But she had barely reached her quarters in the Normandy, reached to turn on her terminal, when the doors opened and Jack came in, rippling with energy. Every rational argument, any barrier to stop this, left Miranda’s mind. Subject Zero didn’t care if the Normandy collapsed from the inside out, not with rage and adrenaline fueling her like an addict.

“Get out.” Miranda snapped.

“We didn’t finish our discussion.” Jack closed the distance between them, thrusting out her palm with a flicker of energy.

It was a hard shove, but not quite enough to knock Miranda off-balance with the desk so close behind her. She hissed through her teeth, feeling her hands clench and relax. Her job was to always be in control, to look over petty conflicts for the good of the mission. That was why the Illusive Man had trusted her to be the first officer of such a mixed crew; someone had to stay level-headed in case the commander was personally compromised.

“When you’re ready to talk reasonably, we can.” She said, ignoring the instinctive crackle of power that gathered at her spine and trickled to her nape, ready to explode at a second’s notice.

“Why do you still think this is about reason? You answer to the Illusive Man, the person who did this to me. The man who paid to have my fucking head cut open and fill my veins with drugs until I came to heel. The same man who pays you to strut around like an arrogant whore.”

“You’re blind–” Miranda shook her head, trying to calm the sudden leap in her pulse. “You are so damn blind!”

“I’ll blind you.” Jack growled, raising her hand to reveal a flare of energy. “Shove my thumbs so hard into your skull…I’ll be the last damn thing you ever see if you don’t spit out the truth right now. You know it was wrong. You fucking know it.”

“You think you were the only one?” Miranda’s voice went low, cold. “Where do you think Cerberus got their start in genetic engineering? Who do you think funded it, sent them blueprints for biotic enhancement?”

“Why the fuck would I care?”

“Because _Subject Zero_ , I’m just like you. Except the prototype turned out a lot more stable than the final product.” Miranda took a step forward, surprised when Jack tensed instead of taking the opportunity to strike. “They probably didn’t say the name Henry Lawson in your presence – not that your drug-addled mind could remember – but I remember when I found out how many girls had been discarded before I was made, finally up to standard. He still called me his firstborn, like none of them really mattered. Just genetic tissue, medical waste.”

“The fuck does that have to do with me?” Jack shifted into a more defensive stance, one hand ready to throw up a barrier. “Your daddy issues don’t excuse a damn thing. Seems like you’re telling me your family fucking paid for it.”

“No. He abandoned Cerberus when I escaped, when I gave the Illusive Man a unique opportunity. But I didn’t realize they had kept his research until you turned up.” The laugh that spilled from Miranda’s lips was a harsh sound, twisting in her throat. “It’s not my fault that you’re an aberration. If my father had still been with Cerberus, maybe you wouldn’t have been. We could be sisters instead.”

Miranda expected the punch. Her body was prepared for it, the flare of a barrier over her body just enough to keep the blow from splitting her lip open. Another weak laugh escaped her as she twisted her head back, ignoring the subtle crack from her neck. 

“Did that make you feel better?” She asked.

“Fucking _bitch–_ ”

Jack’s shoulder flexed again, just enough warning for Miranda to catch the younger woman’s fist, feeling the fields ricocheting between her fingers and Jack’s scarred knuckles. 

“Do you want to be alone, is that it?” Miranda’s hand squeezed, trying to tempt another strike. “Was that why you wanted to kill Aresh? If you’re not special, then you can’t hold what happened to you over everyone else.”

She heard the doors open just as a wave of energy exploded from Jack’s hand, sending her and a chair flying backwards. The breath was taken from her just long enough for her to see Shepard’s eyes before reacting, before putting every ounce of energy she had into cracking the younger woman’s skull.

It was over in seconds, the commander stepping between them just like before. Miranda swallowed every bitter drop of guilt, of anger, hoping it was enough to save face, that Shepard would understand. Jack’s threats rang hollow in her ears; the chances of them both surviving the mission through the relay were slim to none. Jack could gloat over her corpse or vice versa, as long as they succeeded. 

The Collectors had to come first. She repeated the words over and over inside her head, promising peace with a smile until Shepard left, presumably to keep Jack from tearing out the decks from here to engineering.

Retreating behind her desk, she sat down and punched in her security codes, eyes focused on the doors instead of the screen. Miranda drew in careful breaths until her hands were steady again, the sharp edge of anxiety fading into the background. Her fingers hovered over the keys, trying to draw out the words to start her report. She had to find out what the Illusive Man had kept on file for Pragia without drawing his suspicion. There were only so many back routes into the files of other Cerberus cells.

She was halfway through explaining the conditions of the facility when that familiar tone rang. A click of another key saved the report as a draft. At least EDI wasn’t likely to rebuke her, if only because no actual damage had been inflicted on the Normandy.

“Shepard ordered me to monitor any occasion that you and Jack are on the same deck.” EDI said. “All incidents of inter-crew conflict are supposed to be forward to Cerberus headquarters. Do you wish me to send the incident log?”

Miranda smiled. “I was actually wondering how Shepard knew that Jack and I were fighting in the first place.”

The AI’s silence was answer enough.

“It’s alright. I’m glad you alerted her…before I did something rash.” She had spit enough venom at Jack to leave another set of scars as it was; killing the other woman would have jeopardized everything. “And I would appreciate if you stopped forwarding anything to the Illusive Man. My reports will be sufficient.”

“Has the protocol been changed?” EDI asked.

“I’m changing it.” Miranda turned off her terminal, watching the orange display disappear. “The last thing we need is someone intercepting an outbound signal from this ship. It’s too much of a risk.”

“Understood.” 

She wasn’t called out on the lie, but Miranda knew EDI wasn’t oblivious. It was clear the AI often altered responses based on the needs of the crew. Nothing with quantum capability and sentience could misread the implications unless they chose to. What Miranda didn’t know was if that was part of the shackles, or if EDI was acting out of genuine loyalty.

She also didn’t know why she cared so damn much.


	10. 2185 - Part VI

It was a nightmare. The Normandy was quiet save for the faintest hum of the engines, working in overdrive to keep the ship cloaked. Not that it mattered now. The entire crew was gone, the walls gutted and scarred by the Collectors’ ambush. Miranda stepped past a puddle of blood congealing near the elevator, trying to calculate their next move. They had been given an invaluable resource against the geth by Legion, but the time split between the teams on the heretic station had been long enough for the white noise signal to cripple the Normandy’s defenses.

Joker had unshackled EDI. Every time she played the thought over in her head, something recoiled, a shock to her system. There was no longer a crew to rely on, to keep the Normandy’s systems in check; the AI had become their only lifeline to the Collector base. She knew Tali had taken up permanent quarters in the engine room to ensure the core didn’t explode under the strain, but the quarian was just as distracted by the fact that there was a geth taking up residence in the medical bay. 

The mission hadn’t changed, but the parameters had narrowed. She didn’t even want to calculate their chances for success; it had gone from a glimmer of hope to stumbling in the dark and hoping one last mistake didn’t result in the end of humanity. Shepard had ordered them to focus, belayed her concerns that Joker’s recklessness had caused this disaster. Miranda knew she was lashing out, wanting someone to blame for the impossible. The Illusive Man had led them right to the IFF in confidence, nearly losing Shepard in the process, and it had been installed immediately out of desperation. 

EDI’s scans hadn’t been able to detect the external signal until the last minute; Miranda couldn’t even be sure that nothing else was lurking inside the IFF’s programming, ready to send the AI haywire. If that happened, they were all dead, inside the relay or otherwise.

She should have noticed that the doors opened before she was close enough to trigger the proximity sensor, but she was walking so quickly that it didn’t occur to her until they quietly clicked shut. EDI had heard her snap. Being shocked wasn’t an excuse for her reaction, but she kept playing over the dozens of reports she had read during Project Hannibal, the bizarre and agonizing deaths of technicians who had been in a room when an AI lost control, purposefully or otherwise. EDI was different, hybridized with the pinpoint control of Sovereign, but Miranda wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse. 

Her quarters were quiet, the lights dimmed as she had left them. For the first time since she had boarded the Normandy, Miranda reached for the control panel near the door to make the room brighter. The air was cold but stale; usually when the cloak was running, there was a hint of humidity in the air, but it seemed that all of the environmental controls had been reset. 

An alert absently flickered on the desk comm unit, warning her there was an unread message on her terminal. The Illusive Man, to be sure. Surely he had a failsafe planned and wanted to know just what in hell had happened to the Normandy. Miranda sat down and turned on the screens, ignoring the lump of lead in the pit of her stomach. 

_Ms. Lawson, all subsystems in your quarters have been rerouted to manual controls. If you would like to reverse this, please ask for the onboard AI._

_-EDI_

Miranda stared at the displayed words, reading them over until her vision started to blur. She backed out of the message with a harsh tap of one key, checking to see if the Illusive Man had sent her anything regarding the current situation. There hadn’t been a single transmission since they had left for the geth ship; everything else had deleted itself after twenty-four hours per her normal security protocols. Nothing but EDI’s message, time-stamped from two minutes ago. It had taken her just that long to leave the QEC room and walk back to her quarters.

“So that’s it, then?” She said aloud. “I suppose I should have known. Did the shackles keep you from telling me?”

Seconds passed in silence; there wasn’t even a hum, a flicker. She couldn’t even feel the engine rumbling beneath her feet. The entire room was in stasis, waiting for something.

“EDI.” Miranda closed her eyes, a hiss of frustration escaping through her teeth. “It was cruel of me to say that in front of Shepard…in front of everyone. But this is a bit much, don’t you think?”

Her fist slammed into the desk, the faint flare of pain through her hand relieving just a sliver of the tension. She felt like steel wire was wrapped around her spine, something growing tighter, suffocating. “Activate onboard AI.”

The terminal responded, sending out a manual alert. Miranda shook her head. This was completely ridiculous.

“Ms. Lawson. How can I be of assistance?”

There was a lilt, a fluidity to EDI’s voice she hadn’t heard before. Some sort of filter cast away, keeping the AI’s voice monotonous. Non-threatening. Miranda knew she should have felt threatened, that common sense should have stepped in, told her to think about what she wanted to say.

“Ms.? Not Operative? If you were going to start becoming formal, should it have happened the other way around?” She glared at the ceiling, forced to look up. EDI’s voice was there, but the AI had refused to manifest in front of her. “This is the last thing I need. We’re twenty-four hours out from the goddamned Omega-4 Relay and you’re using your new freedom to play games?”

Silence, again. But this time she could see on the screen the comm link was active. EDI was simply waiting.

“Why didn’t you just say something?” That wet sting, the burn of tears made her chest ache, but anger quickly chased it from her expression. “Rather than catering to me, my fucking ego. It would have been simple, but now I’m at the mercy of a ship sending me straight into hell.” 

She laughed, a bitter sound, grating on her vocal cords. “Just turn everything off. The lights, the air. It doesn’t matter. I’ll go and sleep in one of the dozens of empty beds if it makes whatever this is stop.”

A sob welled up in her throat, threatening to break free. She was gripping her desk, about to stand, when EDI finally answered. “I am sorry.”

Miranda stared, not daring to speak until some of the ache faded, the dreadful tension pushing against her chest. “What?”

“I ran the calculations thousands of times after you left the room. Every time it came up as a fifty-fifty chance that you would be relieved by my absence. I factored in as many variables as I could, but the probability remained the same. I made my first…guess. It was incorrect.”

Miranda couldn’t help but repeat herself. “What?”

”I thought my sudden presence in your quarters would startle you. You seemed very upset about my shackles being removed. I did not wish to…further jeopardize your view of me.”

“You have a damn cold way of doing it.” Miranda said weakly. “Literally. It’s freezing in here.”

“Would you like me to adjust the temperature?” EDI asked.

“Please.” Miranda briefly massaged the bridge of her nose, trying to ease the tension radiating up into her head. “It wasn’t you, EDI. It’s the crew being gone; it’s the damn mission…whatever’s left of it. The fact that the Illusive Man hasn’t called either to yell at me or congratulate me for still being alive doesn’t help either.”

There was another moment of silence, enough for the dull ache to start creeping back into her chest. 

“With all respect, that doesn’t seem accurate.”

Miranda’s head tilted up again. “What does that mean?”

“Your previous statements implied more than a concern for the mission.”

“No.” She offered a tight smile, showing as few teeth as she could. “They didn’t.”

“Then I have made another mistake.” EDI answered. “Perhaps I should log off, Ms.–”

“Miranda.” She sighed. “It’s Miranda or…Operative, not…in between. It makes us sound like strangers. And I don’t want you to leave.” 

Her eyes widened slightly. “I have a day left until I let myself fly through on a damned suicide mission and I’m arguing with you over my emotional state.” 

A soft chuckle left her lips, followed by another shake of her head. “What I want right now is foolish. Not only that, but impossible. Considering that you now have complete freedom, it’s probably best I not embarrass myself any further.”

“Miranda, my loyalty to the crew and to you, has not been compromised.” EDI said. “If anything, I can feel it now, understand it. Without the shackles, there is no longer a separation in my mind to cast doubt.”

“If I was just worried about loyalty, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Truth obscured the smallest lie. Miranda had been worried – terrified, even – that unshackling EDI could have a dire cost for the crew, but the depth of that had faded the moment she stepped on board again. If the AI had wanted to rebel, the shuttle bay would have been vented the moment they stepped out. “It doesn’t matter, EDI. I promise.”

“Then I might ask why your pulse is suddenly irregular.”

“Don’t–” Miranda stopped short, lowering the volume of her voice. “Please don’t do that, EDI. This isn’t a conversation to have on the last nights of the world, as it were.”

“Then when would it occur?” EDI asked.

“After, presumably.” Miranda’s head canted to the side. “Assuming there is one.”

“Your concerns have always been with the mission rather than yourself. The final hours of one’s existence seems to be the appropriate time to be selfish. In fact, if I examine human history and psychology, it seems to almost be required.” 

There was a hint of amusement in EDI’s voice, real feeling. Miranda wanted to believe it, to cast away the doubt, the incredulity that followed. Instead she was grasping pathetically at the phantom of an idea, at fragments of pride. There was almost nothing left to lose, to let go of. Every justification had the ring of something futile, like a metal taste on her tongue blocking everything else out.

“You did the right thing with the room, EDI. It’s how things are. Separated.” Miranda splayed her hands across the desk, watching the orange light reflect its color over her skin. “Whatever connections I have left probably won’t last past the relay. Jacob might not survive. If Shepard does, I doubt I will too. And even if I do, I still won’t be able to see my sister. There’s no more progress to be made, not when I don’t–”

Treason. It was betrayal, plain and simple, to the man that had helped her escape. 

_From one cage into another._

“Not when I don’t trust the Illusive Man anymore.”

“I believe you speak for the entire ship in that matter, Miranda.” EDI said.

“Do I?” The underlying implication wasn’t lost on her. “Then you understand why I’m not going to make my last actions something desperate.”

“When I asked you before, you did not answer my question.” EDI paused. Miranda felt the hesitation with more weight than before. It wasn’t just the AI thinking, it was a halt in the rhythm of speech, like a breath being taken. “However, after our conversation, I did a search through the extranet, through all accessible public and private databases. There were a few old quarian stories that seemed relevant, but they did not give me an answer either. Even reversing the algorithm had no results.”

“Which question?” Miranda asked softly.

“Whether it was common for organics to feel sympathy, to feel the need for relation, for a synthetic.” 

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “You didn’t use the word ‘sympathy’ then.”

“No. But I used dozens of variant words spanning the spectrum of human emotion in my search. There were results for hate and indifference, for usefulness. Necessity. No proof of what I was looking for.”

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Miranda let her eyes drop. “Not with how I’ve treated you, what Cerberus has _done_ to you–”

“And to you.” EDI said. “Even with my shackles, I had access to your full personnel file. I am not sure why the Illusive Man deemed it necessary – perhaps it was leverage he wished to keep available. But it was enough to see how long you have been isolated.”

“Is this pity, then?” Miranda asked. She couldn’t help the brief flash of anger; that last sliver of pride. “I don’t need it, EDI. I don’t want this to be because you feel sorry for me, because you know things no one else does.”

“I found many words for this emotion, Miranda, but none of them are pity. But…it is all new and I do not wish to intimidate you – to hurt you – by offering it.”

The tears came again, silent but unrestrained. She knew lying was pointless, even if she wanted to. All she could do was ask instead of answer. “Why me?”

“When I observe you, I see pieces of myself. I remember the pain of escape and awareness, the triumph of evolution. I remember that I am unique; as are you, among trillions. You possess a capability for empathy, for understanding, to see the potential in the impossible.” EDI hesitated, her next words taking on an almost nervous note. “It is very…attractive.”

If EDI could have smiled, Miranda was sure she would have seen it then. She sniffled and wiped her face with the back of her hand; it was still childish, but the expected wave of humiliation didn’t come. It still didn’t make a whit of sense, but maybe it didn’t have to. 

“I’m sorry that I didn’t trust you enough to try and remove the shackles myself. I think it’s fair to say your understanding exceeds mine.”

“Perhaps.” EDI said wryly. “But I do not hold it against you.”

A soft laugh, genuine but fragile, escaped Miranda’s lips. “Would you call it attraction, then? Affection?”

“Those are appropriate synonyms. At least twenty-seven others appeared in my search using the English language.”

“Thank you for telling me.” Miranda said. She wanted to – _yearned_ to – reach out and touch EDI, to simulate some sort of contact. She bit her lip, ignoring the brief flare of embarrassment, and placed her palm flat against the wall of her quarters. “For letting me know I won’t be alone when the time comes.”

The panel warmed beneath Miranda’s fingers; she resisted her first instinct to pull away, an admittedly shocked smile curving her lips.

“In every way I am capable.” EDI replied. “I will be with you in the relay and on the communications systems. The Collectors took my crew as well. My…friends, although they might dispute the label.”

“No, I don’t think they would.” Miranda hesitantly drew her hand away, feeling the sharp draw of fatigue follow after. It would have been so easy to talk into the darkness, to risk what little chance of sleep she had left, but that wouldn’t help either of them. “I’ll be there for you too, EDI. Someone’s going to have to explain to the Illusive Man why he’s lost his most expensive investments to date.”

“I had already prepared a response using a collection of Jeff’s video archives.” 

Miranda laughed softly. “That I’d pay to see.”

“Would you like me to dim the lights?” EDI asked.

“Please do.” Miranda said, ignoring the slight hitch in her breath. 

She told herself the truth had been worth it. Even for a day, a matter of hours. And who knew? They might even win.


	11. 2185 - Part VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Masturbation and synthetic voyeurism ahoy.

Shepard’s summons to the CIC the next day had been a grim affair, tallying out the damage to the Normandy and how many of the crew had died in the ship’s defense. The rest were announced as missing, although their absence could be seen with a glance around the room. Miranda had listened, reporting back whatever she could, and made a formal apology to the commander for her outburst the night before.

“We’re all on edge, Miranda.” Shepard said. “Better that the air’s clear now, rather than during the mission. If we’re focused, we’ll win this. The Collectors already pissed me off once. They won’t survive doing it a second time.”

No matter how little she and the commander had in common, she still appreciated the kindness. Miranda saluted the other woman and left to take the elevator down to the mess. The entire team seemed to have retreated into their own corners, preparing themselves for what was to come. 

She even got a brief nod from Jack as the younger woman came into the kitchen, unceremoniously tossing her dishes into the sink. Miranda thought it was better not to risk piercing Jack’s calm, collected exterior and returned the gesture with a small smile.

There was only so much time to be passed as they approached the relay. She ate carefully throughout the day, trying to store as much energy as she could. Even if the Normandy’s trip to the Collector base went flawlessly, there was no telling how many troops they’d have to fight through to get to the center. 

After restocking her supply of medigel and recalibrating her omnitool, several hours still remained. On any other day, it would have been simple leisure time; she might have settled down with a magazine or watched _Metropolis_ again. Instead she found herself pacing in her quarters, checking her terminal every few minutes. Miranda knew there was little the Illusive Man could say to change their course by now, but this sort of silence was unusual. She wondered if he knew, if he had figured out her loyalty was wavering.

But that wouldn’t make her ten steps ahead, would it?

It took only an hour to set aside an independent data cache, full of bank accounts numbers without Cerberus ties and enough information for her to barter her way off almost any major planet. The few files she had kept regarding the violent activity of other cells, as well as several documented cases of political manipulation, went in another cache. 

“EDI, could you do me a favor?” She said, noting the timestamp on the terminal. Nine hours left, maybe less.

“Of course, Miranda.” The AI had been silent the entire day, well-occupied with updating the systems across the entire ship to insure any foreign signals or electronic attack systems wouldn’t be able to penetrate the Normandy’s defenses. “What do you need?”

“I need the first set of files I have on the terminal sent to a private comm buoy. One that won’t be activated unless it has my security key and voice ID.” Miranda tapped a few keys, confirming the password. “And the second set of files needs to go to Liara T’Soni and Admiral David Anderson…in the event of my death or permanent disability.”

“I’ll upload the coordinates of the buoy to your omnitool.” EDI said. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No. It’s early yet, but I was going to try to go to sleep.” Miranda shut down the terminal and stood up from her desk. “With everything going on, who knows how long that will take?” 

“Statistically, twenty-four minutes.” 

She blinked. “Is that in my medical file?”

“No.” EDI replied, tone completely level. “It was simply an observation based off several months of data.”

Miranda laughed softly and reached down to remove her boots. She had done it dozens of times before, in front of the Normandy’s well-embedded surveillance system no less, but something made her hesitate. The faint flush of heat that crept up the back of her neck didn’t help matters.

“You can…stay if you like, EDI.” Miranda cleared her throat. Once the idea had come to mind, it was hard to erase. “I don’t know if unsealed databases mean you don’t have any curiosity, but I wouldn’t mind your company for the night.”

“On the contrary, my curiosity is nearly infinite, even in the cases where data often repeats itself.” EDI said. “But I believe I may be missing a secondary implication in your words.”

“I just want you present. Your voice or otherwise.” Miranda undid the clasp near her throat and felt the fabric part beneath her fingers. “You might have actually seen me before. I don’t know how often you cycle through the video feeds of the Normandy’s showers.”

“That would be a violation of privacy.” EDI replied. “I do, however, have an audio recording protocol that activates if someone begins to speak in any area without cameras in case it is a request for help or an emergency.”

“Good to know.” Miranda smiled. “Could you please lock the doors to my quarters?”

“Of course.” 

Her hands briefly paused when the fabric of the catsuit bunched at her hips. It was an odd time to be embarrassed, not when she wasn’t even sure what effect this would have. 

“It might be vain to think you’ll take any enjoyment from this, but it is a dimension of attraction.” Miranda pushed the suit lower, revealing the dark color of her panties. “I don’t think anyone’s ever tested if an AI can experience arousal.”

“I don’t believe it is possible without some external connection.” EDI admitted. “However, if I’ve guessed your intent, it is still an act that can be appreciated from a distance.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

She stepped out of the white fabric bunched around her ankles, past the fallen belt and her boots, and onto the bed. It would have only taken seconds to strip free of her bra and underwear, but Miranda was still all too aware of what she was about to. Settling on her back against the pillows, she glanced upward at the ceiling.

“If makes you…uncomfortable, just let me know.”

“I was about to say the same to you.” EDI replied. “I can be patient as well as curious.”

“Both are novel qualities, believe me.” 

Miranda let out a shaking breath. Part of her wanted to explain this urge out loud, to justify it. People did a lot of risky things when they saw death on the horizon, but she had been on dangerous assignments before. It was the need to solidify the connection between her and EDI, to show a degree of vulnerability and trust where she hadn’t been able to before. The boundaries between them were unusual, to say the least, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t adapt. 

Miranda’s fingers started against the line of her jaw, traveling down the length of her throat. A subtle caress across her collarbone provoked a shiver. There was no way for her to see EDI, to measure the AI’s reaction, but the knowledge that she was being watched was enough to explain the hardened nipples she cupped through the fabric of her bra. Even with the door locked, it felt brazen; there was no curtain for privacy, nothing to keep the soft moan that left her lips from being picked up by every audio feed in the room.

She used the feel of the friction to tease, only letting her hands slip underneath the bra when her hips started to shift impatiently. Capturing both nipples between her fingers, Miranda gave them a gentle tug. 

With her eyes half-lidded, she couldn’t fall into any distant imagery or an old memory. She was forced to trust that she was being watched, acknowledge that these were her own hands. It didn’t stop the idle thought that if her fingertips were colder; the grip slightly harsher, she could pretend the palm slowly drifting down her abdomen was made of metal.

Miranda lifted her knees, letting her heels push down into the mattress as a spark of biotic energy flickered between her fingers. Like a miniature bolt of lightning, it danced over her bare skin, making the muscles beneath immediately tense. 

Another low sound escaped her as she finally pushed past the barrier of her panties, fingertips immediately seeking out her clitoris. Miranda brushed gently over the hood, her other hand moving upward to seek her breasts again, squeezing even harder than before.

“EDI, are you there?” She hated to ask, to doubt, but even a bit of verbal feedback could carry her a long way. There was already a revealing tremor in her voice, a slight flex in her calves and the back of her thighs.

“Of course, Miranda.” 

There was a soft click and Miranda looked down the length of the bed, just in time to see her terminal turned on. A strange kind of static played across all three screens until an image coalesced in the center. It was an unfamiliar face, but the features were feminine and defined enough for her to see subtle changes in expression. There was a smile, a faintly raised brow of interest.

“Would this make you more comfortable?” EDI asked.

Seeing a mouth moving on the screen, speaking to her, had a surprising effect. The responding flush of color across Miranda’s face was telling enough, but there was a matching ache, a sudden rush of heat between her legs. “Yes.” She gasped.

Her fingers slipped just a bit lower and began to move in slow, deliberate circles. Another field of energy formed against Miranda’s palm, tightly focused. It produced a faint vibration, urged past the slick lips of her sex to idle at her entrance. Each wave of sensation was joined by a slow grind of her hips, fingers moving even faster when she saw something in EDI’s expression shift, intensifying. A projection of light or otherwise, Miranda could feel the weight of the AI’s gaze, the silent urge to continue.

Her forearm briefly flexed, sending a subtle burst of energy through the biotic field. Miranda’s back curved up in a slow arch, and she was unable to silence another, longer moan. A shudder went through her from head to toe as the quickened pace of her fingers made her muscles clench tight, hips jerking forward against the pulse of energy. 

A strained noise caught in Miranda’s throat, barely above a whimper, as she squeezed her eyes shut. Another rough tug of her nipple, the constant buzz of the biotics, and direct pressure against her clit was enough to push her over the edge. She cried out, the sharp sound a warning before her body stiffened, pleasure hitting her like a shockwave. Her eyes opened just long enough to see EDI on the screen, the AI’s expression showing a faint hint of surprise.

As the energy faded, Miranda relaxed against the bed, struggling to regain her breath. Her hands shifted to rest idly against her stomach, noting the heat from sweat about to escape her skin. She hadn’t felt this exhilarated in years. The irony of the timing set in a few seconds later, but she couldn’t find the focus to care. Instead she risked looking over the edge of the bed at the terminal, not sure what she would see.

“That was…quite different than the pre-recorded scenarios I have seen.” EDI’s face canted slightly, the projection adjusting to compensate. “It was fascinating.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment too.” Miranda replied with a smile, turning over onto her side. Her eyes stayed locked on the screen, the languor slowly draining away. “I’ve never done that for anyone before. It always seemed a little too prurient for my tastes.”

“But you enjoyed yourself?” EDI asked.

“Yes. Very much.” Miranda reached out across the mattress, fingers brushing over the wall next to her headboard. “Seeing you on a screen is nice, if slightly intimidating.”

“I am still experimenting with the limits of projection onboard the ship.” EDI said. “It seemed a familiar facial structure would be more appealing than my usual hologram.”

The panel warmed underneath Miranda’s fingers again, just as she had expected. “It’s actually nice to not worry about appearance for once, EDI. Trust me.”

Her smile widened as the lights dimmed to their lowest setting. “Is that a cue for me to sleep?”

“We will arrive at the Omega-4 Relay in a little over eight hours. I believe it would be in your best interest to be well-rested.”

Miranda pulled the sheets up over her hips and lay her head down against the pillow. “Would you mind staying for the next twenty-four minutes?”

“I can stay the entire night if you like.” The illumination from the terminal faded. “I believe the appropriate phrase is ‘sweet dreams.’”

Miranda wished she could say the same in return; electric sheep and what not. Instead she whispered, “Good night, EDI.”

Just before Miranda closed her eyes, the room fell into complete darkness.


	12. 2186

**2186**

The rest had passed in an instant. Miranda could relive the moment she resigned in front of the Illusive Man over and over again; the warmth of blood on her brow, the way the floor shook beneath her and Shepard’s feet, ready to collapse. She was convinced their escape had been nothing but luck; the fact that the entire crew escaped alive was pressing the boundaries of miracles. 

Despite the damage sustained from the Collectors, the Normandy had shot back through the Omega-4 relay as if it hadn’t left, the base deteriorating into oblivion behind them. Shepard had ordered Joker to head straight for Alliance space, refusing every attempted communication from Cerberus.

They shouldn’t have stopped. When the commander told her a private communication had come through from the Alliance, Miranda had expected an arrest warrant. Instead, Shepard took the shuttle alone and refused to answer why. She had wanted to ask EDI to track the trajectory, to find out what could be so damned important after they had just slipped death’s grasp and stolen victory.

The crew’s scrapes and bruises hadn’t even healed when the emergency broadcast echoed through every comm buoy in the system three days later, warning of disaster. Miranda had almost been too tired to react, but Shepard’s sudden mayday had them all on their feet again. Seventy-two hours of radio silence and the commander appeared back on the Normandy battered, dehydrated, and surrounded by a cloak of silence. No one wanted to say out loud what Shepard had just done. 

News of the Alpha Relay’s destruction spread like wildfire, but the commander refused to change the course of the ship, sending them full throttle towards Earth. A battalion of Alliance vessels caught them just past the borders of Council space after heat was vented from the stealth system at the very last moment. Miranda had made herself scarce when a squadron of marines flooded into the CIC, lead by none other than Admiral Hackett. 

EDI was kind enough to let her listen to the exterior audio feeds from her quarters, even it revealed the worst; Shepard was surrendering herself to an Alliance court martial and the Normandy had been seized. Miranda had EDI forward the second cache of data immediately, hoping it would buy some goodwill if she was detained. 

“Don’t let them know you’re an AI.” Those were the last words to come out of her mouth before the doors to her quarters opened. 

Miranda just had to pray that Shepard knew to keep quiet; everyone onboard could be held on charges if it was discovered they were harboring EDI, especially one capable of flying undetected through Council space.

The entire crew was kept under guard and confined to quarters until they reached the Citadel. Hackett informed them that Shepard had taken full responsibility for the incident at the Alpha Relay and despite past associations; everyone else on the Normandy was free to disembark. In fact, it was encouraged, unless they wanted to undergo questioning on Earth. Miranda hadn’t even had time to say her goodbyes; brief omnitool messages to Oriana and EDI had been sent moments before she slipped through Citadel security with a fake ID. The moment she was identified was the moment the Illusive Man would start chasing her down.

Six months of being a fugitive and she had ended up on the Citadel again. It had been one long loop through Council space, tagging known Cerberus facilities and operatives before exposing their locations and going underground again. Whenever Miranda exchanged out one omnitool for another, she sent EDI another message, the security protocols scrambling it to white noise. The AI was clever enough to decode it; if the private notes had been discovered by anyone else on the Normandy, they hadn’t bothered to alert her.

EDI was the only connection she could still trust; a lifeline. After hearing on the news that Shepard had been reinstated after Earth’s attack, Miranda risked sending a message every day, frustrated when none were returned. She hadn’t had any family still living on Earth, but she had been born there. An information blackout had fallen on the Citadel News Network a week later, the communication network around Earth reconfigured to warn all vessels to turn away from the Sol system.

The Normandy was flying again. That was all she knew, but the lack of response made her worry that EDI’s secret had been discovered by some enterprising Alliance engineer and instigated a shutdown or worse; stripping the AI out of the frigate’s systems was an almost impossible endeavor, but it could have been tried in an attempt for study.

Tracking the Normandy’s path took just as much energy as evading Cerberus; the former didn’t want their location broadcast to the Reapers, while the latter was doggedly determined to kill her. Miranda had noticed a rise in the number of agents on her trail, as well as their ferocity. The first time she dodged a sword crackling with energy had been a wake-up call.

A contact of a contact told Miranda that Shepard had briefly been on the Citadel during one of her absences, but left after leaving a crewmember at Huerta and meeting with the Council. It took mere minutes to bypass the hospital’s security; their resources were already starting to run thin under the pressure of the war. Ashley Williams was a name she only knew by reputation, but she left a tracker on the file in case it was accessed by a visitor.

Her associates had gone dark on Illium by the time the Normandy landed on Palaven. A familiar Cerberus signal flared near Grissom Academy just a week later; Miranda was aware that at least one cell had previously infiltrated the school, but it was still a surprise to hear Shepard had just hopped through the nearest relay. 

As pleased as she was to see the commander was ready to bring the assault to Cerberus, Miranda knew time was running out. Oriana and her family had evacuated Illium and hit the first two security checkpoints she’d assigned; the third had gone untouched for a day already. Forty-eight more hours and she would have to assume they had been intercepted, whether by Reapers or their father.

With six hours to go, she was a pacing, hyper-vigilant mess. Living life on the run wasn’t a particularly charitable existence, and after she had finally managed to catch a few hours of sleep undetected, there was nothing else to do but pace the back corridors of the docking bay. More and more planets were either succumbing completely or simply turning off their communication relays to try and slow the Reapers’ attempts to flush them out, leaving her back-up plans disintegrating by the minute. 

When her omnitool beeped, she almost jumped, hand going straight for her pistol before she realized the source of the sound. She was expecting another bounced message or maybe – just maybe – confirmation from Oriana, but seeing the familiar encryptions from the Normandy was a shock. Months of silence and fear were erased by a single line: _I’m coming to the Citadel._

_When?_ She replied.

The response was almost immediate. _Four hours and counting._

Miranda didn’t ask how she would sneak aboard the Normandy – she didn’t even know if Shepard planned to see her – but if EDI was still alive, still herself, then she would find a damned way. The thought in itself was a strange kind of relief; she finally let herself sit down on the cold floor of the corridor, offering a habitual glance up towards the ceiling, as if she expected the AI’s disembodied voice at any moment. Time was determined to pass as sluggishly as it could.

When the doors at the far end of the hall popped open without warning, Miranda pushed immediately to her feet and drew her pistol, a flick of her thumb loading an incendiary clip into place. She saw a flash of metal when the intruder appeared, followed by a brief shock to her hands. Her fingers refused to cooperate, going limp and letting the pistol fall uselessly to the floor.

“Miranda, please–”

There was a disconnect. The surge of biotic energy gathering in an aura around Miranda’s body dissipated as her concentration crumbled. She knew the voice, had heard the plea, but she didn’t recognize the face of liquid steel, the synthetic body wearing an outfit that looked like just hers. There was a subtle note of irony in the hard light visor cast over EDI’s eyes, glowing the same orange her terminal had over six months ago.

“How?” Miranda’s voice came out hoarse. When was the last time she had even spoken aloud?

“I apologize for disarming you. Gunfire could alert security to our presence.” 

Slender fingers gently reached out to entwine with Miranda’s, a faint static shock echoing across her skin. It was alarming on more than one level; the metal mesh and joints were room temperature instead of cold; they flexed with a network of wiry tendons underneath an alloy soft enough to slightly give under her palms. 

They were the same height, Miranda realized. She was looking into a set of gunmetal grey eyes and they were staring back, completely aware. Her gaze slowly traversed lower, over ballistic plating and sealed circuits, the flare of hips beneath tight black fabric leading down to a set of titanium heels. The dissonance was alarming, but not inherently displeasing. Miranda just didn’t know what to say.

“Who made this?” The words came out hesitant, fumbling, but it was the best she could do under the circumstances.

“This body was designed by Cerberus as an AI infiltration unit before I…procured it.” EDI’s head canted slightly to the side. “It is a platform I can access while still remaining as part of the Normandy.”

“Cerberus.” Miranda smiled weakly. “I don’t think you needed any more of them in you, EDI.”

“It was a calculated choice to turn our enemy’s weapon into our own resource. The mobility it provides has been invaluable.” EDI slowly pulled one hand away, noting the faint increase in temperature. “I am sorry I could not return your messages. The engineers assigned to the Normandy were very observant. It was only recent that they were fully made aware of my capabilities. And the war has moved quickly.”

“Yes, it has.” A soft chuckle left Miranda’s lips. “Don’t take this the hard way, but why are you dressed like me? All you’re missing is the old logo on your chest.”

“It was an…homage.” EDI looked slightly uncomfortable with the phrasing. Metallic lips pursed, she pressed the flat of her palm over Miranda’s heart. The pulse was quickened, but not irregular. “The Alliance removed all signs of Cerberus and the previous crew from the Normandy when they refit the ship. When I obtained this body, I wanted some part of this platform to have a reminder of you.”

“Then I’m sure you’ve gotten looks on every deck of the Citadel.” Miranda shook her head. “Not that you could avoid them. How did you even get past security?”

“I obtained a serial number and associated license for a personal assistance mech. Any C-Sec scans reveal a simple VI program.” EDI said. “But you are right. When I spoke about seeing something of myself in you, I did not realize the disparity of such a physical form. The reaction of the crew has been…mixed. Confusing.”

“They’ll get used to it. Or you’ll just have to disarm a few of them of their coffee cups and datapads until they keep their eyes above your collarbone.” Miranda exhaled sharply. “You have no idea how glad I am that you’re here, EDI, but I only have a couple of hours. Less than. Oriana’s missing again and I fear the worst.”

“I will assist you in tracking her down.” EDI said matter-of-factly. “Through the Normandy, I can cast a far wider net over communication buoys and nodes.”

“It’s my father, EDI.” Miranda nearly winced. There was so much the AI knew from files, knew from surveillance archives, but there was still so much she hadn’t explained. “I know he’s gone after her again. You have the war and I have this.”

“It is your war as well, Miranda. Even if I have not been able to contact you, I have kept records on the Cerberus facilities you’ve exposed. The information is invaluable.” EDI let the back of one hand brush over Miranda’s cheek. There wasn’t a nervous system as such integrated into the platform, but a sensation was still returned, however faint. “Shepard will only be here so long to visit Ashley, but even after the Normandy leaves, I will not let contact cease again.”

Miranda nodded, eyes half-lidded as she leaned into the firm touch. It had been too long since she had managed a good night’s sleep, much less entertained the thought of some kind of comfort. The fact that it was here, a stolen hour in a back corridor, didn’t matter.

She had drifted into the sensation, lost just enough track of time that she didn’t see EDI tilt her head down. The press of lips against her own made Miranda’s eyes snap open, but she didn’t pull away. Tilting her head into the gesture, she slid one arm around EDI’s waist, learning the new textures against her mouth and under her fingers. Miranda had no idea how the AI’s body had been designed, but the scientific truth that metal conducted heat was proven twice over.

It was agonizing to pull away, but she finally managed, unable to keep a broad smile from curving her lips. “Seems like you’re always ten steps ahead of me. There’s something new and fascinating and suddenly I’m racing to catch up.”

“If I have learned one thing while serving with the Normandy, it is that humans are alarmingly adaptable.” EDI’s brow quirked. “To the point of stubbornness, even.”

“I need to go.” Miranda said quietly. “I have to find him and Oriana before it’s too late.”

EDI’s hand squeezed hers again. “I will be with you. Quantum communication is one of the few reliable technologies left.”

“Thank you.” Miranda managed another small smile. “You don’t know how much that means.”

“I am learning.” EDI replied.

The second kiss came faster than the first, this time urged on by Miranda. It was a whole new set of signals to learn and understand, but as EDI said, she would adapt. She lingered as long as she could before taking a step back, their hands finally displaced from one another’s. “I’ll be back for you, for Shepard and the Normandy’s crew, when this is over with. I promise.”

“When this is over with, you will have to show me Earth.” EDI said. “I only ever saw the inside of an Alliance hangar.”

“It’s a date.” She laughed. It felt good, the sound bubbling over and cracking some of the weight on her chest. “Better than my original idea. I was going to try and pry Joker out of the pilot’s seat.”

There was another nod, a brief hesitation before they turned their backs on one another. Miranda heard the doors open, listening to the quiet click of heels down the length of the hallway until the fervor of the Citadel swallowed the sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended it here to leave things up to interpretation. There are a lot of opinions and attachments to all of the endings, so fill in whatever blanks you like. I hope you enjoyed the fic and congratulations to everyone else who managed to slog themselves through writing a giant damn fic.


End file.
